


Mourning

by Itachi_S_Lucius



Series: Eras [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Romance, Dark Character, Flashbacks, Founders Era, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insanity, M/M, Murder Mystery, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itachi_S_Lucius/pseuds/Itachi_S_Lucius
Summary: Sequel to: Eras (MadaNaru)He wished only to find who was responsible for the travesty, a goal to become the representation of all his clan. Unknowing that in the meanwhile, they who held the blade sat in ire at the foil their plan had happened across. Yet, they still managed a sinful grin upon the thought of their murder accomplished. Despite their goal not yet fulfilled.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Naruto
Series: Eras [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594267
Comments: 32
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter One: Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Yes, this is the sequel to Eras. There is quite a bit of MadaNaru in this despite you know... Everything.
> 
> Pre-Warning: If haven't read ERAS yet You WILL NOT understand any of this. At all.

To fit into silence was a circumstance Naru had never merged well into. He often became the ending of quiet, in creating a loud atmosphere for all to thrive within. Albeit, he did have moments of knowledge, wherein he acknowledged the need for bestillment; such as in mourning, moments to hold oneself in an outward peace while the mind created a chaos.

Even so, silence did not merge well with one born unto the sun, displayed as if in opposition to the moon.

The contrast was brought as small voices returned to make the world slightly brightened again. "Madara?" Gentle and whispered though their words were, Madara could hear each among him with a clearity burning upon his ears. "Madara."

Blinking he turned to Hashirama, looking down ever so slightly at the exhausted, slumping, man, who had come to weighing himself under a guilt he could not hold a proper blame for. There was hair strawn making a cloud above his head, with purple as an eyelining beneath as if khol or reddened paint upon a geisha dancer; the darkened brown of his irises only seemed to increase the intensity of the colouring. Opposing the Hokage's giddy demeanour, Hashirama wore his clan's mofuku, black, by tradition baring no kamon on the back, no embellishments crested the brimming or obi, any colour made was cast only by the tannin of his skin. For a moment of smite, Madara came to wish it were only he who wore a mofuku. Considered as a brief, trite thought that Hashirama were disrespectful by baring colour.

Instead, he forced his eyes apart from the man, gazing among those still gathered. Finding the groupings vasty still whole, and those whom had left were persons of youth, unknowing to the meaning of the ceremony or tradition it was made to represent. All those whom remained were in mass, at least fifty in totality per each grouping. The Uchiha were gathered in full, none had left and the district was vacant. Senju had done similar, though many children had gone, the Sarutobi too were unexpectedly in large along with the Haruno who had scattered about their numbers. Madara came to the simplistic conclusion he both detested the sight, and was touched by the sentimentality showcased with such a enmass crowd attending in true feeling.

Madara wished for there to be rain, opposed to the sun shone skies above, in a tyde of blue. Jiraiya clung upon his leg in quiet, even for a child of vigorous personality, he had a silence about him now, and was looking to the clouds with eyes so shadowcast, the Patriarch faintly hoped his own eyes had begun to create their own genjutsu in result for his own lack of rest, and in truth Jiraiya only appeared mournful. "Its time." No comforting simper raised his expression as he spoke, speaking clear of the disposition Hashirama himself held. Still, his arm was outstretched in a vain replacement to the emotion; Madara took it without a question, his son clinging tight to his other hand, now staring to the ground in a maliceful confusion.

Sunset began then, a yellow glow began to cast along with her orange partner. They took their placements, and he remembered rather abstractly the events of yesterday in blur of unimportance.

He had thought it unchanging, nay, he had thought it today originally, as if the days hadn't passed. A numbness had begun to settle upon him, and with it so came the want to avoid the sensation. Thusly he had taken one of his tentos and cut upon his leg, in the meaning of witnessing or procuring the answer unto himself: if he could still feel.

Uncommonly, he stared on to Naori, who was to take the role and speak fore his voice, which had gone. No resentment came upon him at the understanding of what she did, as then knew whatever words he spoke would be mangled in disorder and unfathomable by any whom weren't within his exact position.

"There is much to say.-" Slowly by the pacing of her beginning, Jiraiya came to hug his father's waist, hiding his face into the comforting hip, crying the tears he couldn't unleash in sound, and sobbing therein. While Madara kept his arm securely around the small shoulders and attempted to withhold himself from succumbing unto emotion so violently contained. "-Many of us gathered were witness to the horrors of the _Warring States._ None of us could possibly wish for similar. Unto us of the Uchiha... Naru was an innocence." Upon her, Madara wished for a pain, as the statement was made in a comprehension of what Naruto was indeed onto those whom knew him not. "Further to that however, he was a warrior, a shinobi, a Matriarch, a Hanayome, and a Mother. Those truths made part of who he was. Though we had moments among us, he was mine.. And Kou's dear friend, to many of us as well he shared that title.-" A large pause took the entire audience and no one attempted to break at it.

"-and, he's never coming back." It stung deeply unto all. Madara watched, rather thinly; held only by a cord of twine, as she returned to the gathered with a head downcast and her flower already placed.

His was next to come, so he did with the trailing steps of a man captured. By his front placement, Hashirama held firmly onto the shoulder of his Godson, Madara knew without glance that the fact stood.

It was a large stone formed as flame to where Naru's body lay, appropriately. Though Madara breathed many placating, shuddering breaths before he bent to the bottom and glimpsed the carefully made engraving there:

 _'Founder of Konoha: Uchiha Naru.'_ A large space proceeded therein, the scoff he gave at the thought failed to retain his anger. Assumption brought the consideration the spacing was contrived for him, Hashirama, and likely Tobirama, albeit, should Mito hold high regard by then, she too would be added. Nothing bubbled forth from his own pit of illease, and he said nought to the subject, merely allowing upon himself a simple contentment that his bride retained a title among those to be honoured in latter years.

In an utterance he spoke. "Naru. I knew you well, the katana found... Was certainly not your own. I cannot hold you once more, I cannot embrace you, nor indulge your body. My promise, I shall keep: I will gain revenge for they whom hast done this unto you... Naru-" He made a futile glance, but choose instead not to look:

"I love you."


	2. Chapter 2: Duel Awakening

By his own standard, Madara could maintain himself long enough to take proper protocol of his clan. They each would look upon him as expectations stood, a pity would reach, but was never spoken unto. Instead, all would play upon ignorance and smile to him as best they could, though for many a friend had been lost, the effect did not reach into their minds as it did his own and Madara was aware of this. So he continued in methodology as best he may without the constant comforting of his bride doing the same. Regardless, despite his fervent understanding of his patriarchal positioning as was formally taught by his father; he could not perform properly that which was the duty of the Matriarch, and was therein best performed by said Matriarch.

The cobblestone pathway of the Uchiha district was a subtle sound against his ears, and rang softly therein. He knew not why this was so, but many considerations were about his mind and the gentle sound of crunching pebbles was of little concern. Not long past, during the same period of time when the shadows were short and the sun far to the east; Naru had been alive, and speaking to him in a calm tone of voice with a happiness singing in his actions as a skip slightly took over his steps. Madara could recall, they had been walking with Jiraiya clinging onto both their hands, the boy often gazing in wonder at the clouds above, many times this caused the toddler to trip over his own short, small, feet, though he had laughed with his mother each time. Then, with his smile full and still enthralled with laughter; Naruto would look up to meet his eyes and smile joyfully, as if all his aspirations and dreams had come forth by his husband's affection. Madara could imagine nothing more pacifying then such an envisionment of tranquility, he supposed, that even then his bride had been carrying their new child within, perhaps the young hanayome had known, even then.

Eyes came through to show him the reality, and the daunting visage of the Hokage building. A sigh came upon him, for a moment he held a hope his bride would return to him and explain the jest: of course this did not occur. Even so, he knew that such a want was futile by the simple understanding Naru would be angered with him for his instability; for having left their precious son to the care of his Godmother. In his own illogic, he had done it for Jiraiya's safety, as it were in such a circumstance where he hadn't believed himself stable, and certainly not taken himself as responsible enough to care for a child. Though, Hashirama had attempted to aid in his own soft -occasionally angry, manner of comfort. There had been propositions that medical-ninjutsu may help his mentality though all the times the Senju had tried ended with nothing soothing his head.

Now, he knew himself to be well enough to take care of his son, to maintain his clan. Even with his mind still screaming at the desolation felt by empty emotionally continuity. He expected nothing was to feel correct as it stood, and had taken to accepting the sensation rather then fighting against it in futility.

Therein he entered the newly designated office of the village leader. Soon proclaimed was a shout: "Daddy!" Came the broken call from a child too young, and even while under the prospect of non-functioning emotion, a feeling sampling joy came to Madara then. No other regard settling upon him at the sight of the small boy running to him, so, as he had seen displayed by fellows, he crouched low -for his height, and outreached his arms, perhaps the glimmer of a simper came to him then. Whence holding his son, a painful clench came upon his chest, acceptable, only under the knowledge that it was the same warming love which his bride had once provided.

"Madara!" He glimpsed to Hashirama, who was smiling with ridiculous ponytails in his hair. "I thought I wouldn't get to see you again anytime soon!" Through the normal demeanour of his friend, Madara found himself almost snorting at the idea, and while in company; he kissed the forehead of Jiraiya without reservation, even gaining one on his cheek in return; that served to brighten his mind slightly despite the small action.

Looking more thoroughly upon his friend, he noticed that Hashirama had come into his second trimester for certainty. Radiating his aura ever further, as a grin was settled upon him regardless of recent events, though even with his own mind's instability dissuading thought, Madara bore no prejudice against the sight; his acknowledgement of an omega in impending motherhood overrode any ill-contrivived notion of mourning formality. Instead, he stood to full height, taking an uncaring note of the lack of albino within the room, merely evaluating the office slightly, and attempting to with-hold the want for Naru to see everything.

In opposition to temperate feelings stroking at Jiraiya's hair, however, his surprise was quite well seen Hashirama, as he took notice of small greying hairs on his son's head. A question rested in his gaze as he met the brown-toned man, but received no answer as the Senju pulled a strand of his Godson's hair upwards in glimpse. Reaching the same findings, and seeing similar greying hairs growing from the skelp.

"Madara, does Jiraiya have any relations with grey or white hair?" The confusion remained, and neither could think clear on an answer. Considering far more then he wished, the Uchiha could only remember a vague memory of Naru stating he hadn't known his parentage -likely including any genealogy therein. Madara knew for certainty his own mother had navy tones, and his father was that which he had inherited himself. None of his siblings had a whitened or grey hair colour neither, and though the possibility came upon him; the prospect of Naru having been unloyal was a notion considered impossible: Not merely because he would've known, but simply as any connection his bride had with the silver haired Hatake was brief, or upon the day of the massacre, which was many years after Jiraiya's brith. Indeed, Madara rationalized, Jiraiya activated his sharingan the night of his mother's murder.

"None that I know of." As it were, the prospect stood simple among them, the young Uchiha had simply begun to grow white or grey hair in place of his father's black. "Perhaps it is a further genetic trait from his mother, though he already has Naru's skin tone."

Something came to Hashirama's expression then, replacing the perplexion previously inlain there, a tonation of concern. A glimmer easily and quickly replaced by an uncertain smile placating in nature. "Well, Jiraiya-chan is certain to be a handsome man, with his Father's and Mother's appearances working in tandem! All the Omega's will surely adore his beauty, maybe Tsunade-chan here!" He rubbed lovingly upon his outgrowing abdomen, and Madara found himself in the mood to smile at the concept.

"A name already?" Again, his expression shifted, tenderly this time.

"Little Jiraiya here said Naru-san spoke of a Tsunade on occasion. I came to enjoy the name."

* * *

Breath came to him suddenly, with action as his entire body drove upwards. Vision clearing to meet with the bright outline of orange and whitened sheets. Still holding a blurred outcome, he wished for a hallucination to have greeted him in falsehood. With ire, as his iris's gave clarity the reality imparted upon him an outcome ill favoured, cruel. Meeting then the visage of a slouching figure upon the bedsheets of white, covering herself with arms lazily placed, nay, a near fainting posturance. Pink invading his sight, even as the woman steered to waking, Naruto wished he could fall asleep once more. The hope for delusion becoming more futile as the moments progressed, feeling could not approach him then as a bleakness made a settlement unto his mentality.

Thought however, did not hide itself in kindness, it augmented his reality as concept came to him with wakeful eyes; _had it been a dream, an illusion?_ _Madara?_ A pain frothed his head then, ignored by the echo of his thoughts forming fear. No words arose even as Sakura woke, looking onto him, first with a hopeless glance, then, green became emerald, a grin formed, and Naruto found himself jumped upon.

"You're awake... I'm so glad you're alright." Sobs rang through his ears then, and Naruto could not bare to move.

Wondering, with a shudder in his hands: _Had Madara cried, had Jiraiya?_ The fear did not dissipate even under familiar embrace. 


	3. Chapter 3: Mother's Day (pt.1)

Sitting there with irises glazed in fog at the crossing of wall and floor with no vision crossing, a sudden intrusion of sound came to his senses as a silver alert during a quiet day in the district when filled with sun and blue skies with peaceful connotations. Recognizable voices communicating in a concerned tonnation, and were he not awakened to reality, Naruto knew he could fool himself into thinking them as those of Hashirama and perhaps Naori. No care came to him then, no emotional connection to those speaking for he knew his self-illusions to be false, only further disconnect with all around him. It was indeed, a resolute Hokage and her apprentice. Followed closely by the only Hatake of the village. Into desolation, Naruto moved not away from his own vacancy of thought, staring plainly at the sheets of his bed not considering his visitors. 

Replaying upon his mind was the memory of Jiraiya’s smile, his birth and how happy Madara had been at the news they were to be parents. The burn that resonated in his thoughts, all the considerations sitting within his head, untouched. The window drew his attention, and in glimpsing out he saw the same Konoha he had grown up inside, the same buildings, Sakura was sixteen, therein so was he. And he had never been so miserable to be young.

“Naruto-” Tsunade came to speak, and while it grasped his attention, in looking upon her even with a smile resting so tranquil, he felt a wetness invade his eyes. Tears came easily, with no attempt to withhold them, bringing a puzzled expression from the woman in response. 

“Leave me alone.” There was nothing else to be spoken, by all experience he had at the moment, his friendships would not understand. The Senju sighed, and he recognized the sound by its subtle resonance just as her mother sounded after putting up Madara for too long a duration. 

“Naruto, I do at least need to check you over.” A near scoff left him then, similar to that which his husband would let out when irate. It almost brought him to giggle in contrast, memories came to flood his head, in looking to Kakashi he had a moment of thought that the man should be dead. 

“I do not want your assistance.” A gaze of blaring hazel fuzed within his being, an anger drew forth from the familiar expression she bore as response. Not from his own reluctance to be ‘checked,’ in his own hatred of the procedure. “I desire to wake.” There, he threw away the sheet covering him to launch out of bed and check for delusion. Convincing his head that a genjutsu had ensnared his mentality, and his son would appear before him with a smile and a hug, Madara behind with an eye roll, and then the man would bend down from his ridiculous height just to kiss his hanayome on the cheek. Naruto forced himself to stare intensely outwards hoping for a sudden jolt in waking inside his own futon, cuddled beside the frigidity of his husband. No revelation came upon him in freedom, no luck to hold his homupowa.

Next to speak was Kakashi in a concern which had Naruto turning away in dislike. “Naruto, I understand you’ve been through a lot, but at least let Lady Tsunade look you over.” A growl slipped through as a warning from the deepest recess of his mind, remembrance from his clan coming forth. As a threat almost came to be spoken, the silver hair bringing Naru to the distinct memory of massacuring the entire Hatake clan just prior to having died. The lack of peasantry in his head was prominent, as his own teacher had invoked ire enough to make Naruto want for his death, the Hokage included despite her relation to one of his dear friends. Sakura gave no aid, but he could take comfort in the knowledge that he hadn’t been particularly close to any of the Haruno. 

“Fine. Then may I leave?” His old teammate spared him an irate glance at the bold want of his request. No one else dared to give him a response, there was a hesitation within the room saving him from the ire to be presented from his friendships. Tears fell freely in a remembrance of what he had lost. Therein he made it out of the hospital without a delay made from those wanting to stop him, he hadn’t even come across one wanting to do so. Merely walking freely to the door and practically bolting outwards, the marks staining on his cheeks gave a clear indication as to his disposition. By the strength of his will he hardly managed to stand firm, and collapsed against the wooden fence beside. His eyes were showing a lie, for he could not calculate how he could be seperate from his husband and son, further tears impeded upon him. “Mada…” Naturally he was met by the silence surrounding him, in his absence of missing the one whom he lived for, and was now gone Madara and Jiraiya both, it pained on his mind to think of their faces in joy, in sadness. Though something inside, deeply resonated within as a pained reminder, and his hands moved quickly to be certain of his position. The panic did not fail his mentality as the burn came upon his hand as expectation fathomed it would, a growl of particular, familiar resonance vibrated within his head, Kyuubi displaying himself as a continual presence once more. The tears he felt as sorrow came not under this knowledge, instead he remembered himself, the day he had spoken truth to his husband, it brought his consciousness to his mindscape the recognizable cell stood imposing before him. The giant fox tossed him a mocking smirk speaking clear of the wording he had yet to cast to his keeper, the beast harbouring a malicious grin for a beast of chakra, Naruto bore it little else but a glare in understanding for its knowledge. The Uchiha knew that its prisoner knew why he had been returned to his own time; a place he willed not to be any longer.

“Kurma. What have you done?” In shock, he found his voice came in a soothing calm tone. One he had not expected for the mood he bore, the anger and near hatred inflicting his thoughts. The consideration of his son coming into remembrance, a thought in knowing what future awaited his clan; the future already borne. Again, he came to repeat himself, this time with a venomous anger deeply becoming his voice. “What did you do?!” The monster responded by his echoing laugh surrounding the cavern. Direct answers as common, not passing by his mentality. Naru situated himself into irritation as his stare beguiled his unwilling-captive with an untold misery, in remembrance of his husband and son living within a mourning for a death he had not suffered. Understanding what Kyuubi had done made no comfort soothe his mind; the beast had split himself in two, half of his chakra form imparted onto Madara -as was plotted, though Naruto had thought his husband would get the entire beast, and he would parish in result.- Instead, and unexpectedly, Kurma had given Madara half of himself and remained within his jailor to keep Naru alive and sent him back to his own time with a burst of power brought by the Moon’s and Saturn’s positioning. The Uchiha Matriarch hardly understood the entire logic made for the shifting of planetary alignments which Kyuubi had vast knowledge of. 

The anger it brought into his already malicious thoughts he choose not to think upon further. 

Instead of returning to an empty apartment filled with no one, he averted his body to the flower shop with a friendship he rarely spoke to. Beautiful carnations standing out in a proud display, along with several lilies and daisies, warming his mind in a memory he attempted to ignore. However, he stopped in a sudden recognition, and surprise, though it was an unusual happiness at the familiar head of hair displayed within the windows and he entered with a grin he hadn’t expected to wear. Bright white and near as tall as his own homupowa, it appeared that the famous Sannin had returned to Konoha and had a need for a bouquet of red flowers. Recognition, put the name upon them which Naru found his smile fading towards they were upturned chrysanthemums. That which Madara had gotten him, the same which Kou had mentioned to be suited for his golden hair, that which represented his clan. That which beheld his husband’s image within. 

Even so, as his aqua stare rested upon the flora and a tear slipped past his lashes and his breath distilled within his chest, a hidden memory he had closed reopened inside his thoughts. Nothing particularly special in context, indeed within his life it had become a commonality: 

_ One day upon a thousand wherein his husband had felt it a necessity to pick his bride flowers over the valley, many of them had been cliff-lilies, blue-bells, even the occasional sunflower. Once however, the stoic man had disappeared for far too long, the shadows had shifted two positions by the time he saw fit to grace into the house. Jiraiya had sat himself at the table to eat a supper not quite prepared, laughing at a joke his Mother had told -Naruto recalled it to have been about Tsunade ironically enough.- The young boy had turned towards his father with a smile befitting his own Okaa-san, pleasant, and jumping away from his comfortable seating to embrace his Father upon his long awaited return. Though Madara had cuddled his son in welcoming, and kissed his bride in return his back was disguising something hidden, which Naruto had seen.  _

_ Naruto remembered, giving the man a brief kiss on the cheek before attempting to glimpse behind, an action not permitted by the Patriarch casting a sly smile and turning away from the peering eyes. His height used an advantage. Then he had taken the arm he’d previously been using to hold his child, and used it to dip his Omega downwards in a passionate kiss which Naru could still feel even with the present surrounding.  _

_ That’s when Madara had happily given him the chrysanthemums with an embrightened grin on his face.  _

The scent impeded his nose, though despite the trepidation filling his thoughts, he welcomed the fragrance. Bittersweet, the memory of his husband’s love for him warmed at his colden chest, even with the placeholder of his son directly before him. “Why chrysanthemums? They don’t really suit you.” It was an attempt, but he tried to laugh at his own failing emotions. Looking upwards towards the black irises of his former mentor, brought the subtle impression of his son’s presence surrounding him, even in height and skin-tone. Naru near found himself retreating in a run from the familiarity granted upon him in a pained recall. 

“Naruto! You, feeling better?” He grinned at his own questioning, and the forgotten Uchiha found himself attempting to join in the action with little success. 

“Oh the flowers, they’re for my Okaa-san actually, Mother’s Day and all.” 


	4. Chapter 4: Father, Information, Violence

It is upon a calming stroll which Naruto finds himself adrift into near melancholy, brought unto him through the subtle invading scent of the flowers intruding, the name of the man walking afore him, and the large graveyard newly unfamiliar to eyes adapt only to a small sight. Made his vision cloud, while his mind struggled with recollection none but himself could understand. In his peripheral, the sage was laughing with downturned irises as a smile of minimal proportion filtered vaguely upon his lips. Naruto could nearly make sense of the pained expression, though he said nothing to address it, upon him was a slow scowl forming as he found the appearance similar to one long gone; to the Uchiha Omega the accidental similarity hurt at his maternal instinct.

As a distraction, “what about your Father?” Though he understood the feelings intertwined with family days now, no one else knew of his knowledge and therefore the distraction was a fair enough reasoning to anyone who knew not of his experience; which was anyone within Konoha now. His mentor gave him a glance, a glimmer of attention for the question posed, though Naruto guiltily knew his own was made more as a intrusion based upon his own curiosity, in knowing that the sage’s parents were a mystery to many persons; they were hardly spoken freely of, and had no known appearance, certainly they were born decades ago in order to have had Jiraiya. In his vague thought process, the concept that perhaps they had known Madara filtered across his hopes in a simplistic echo of impossibility, naturally he rejected the concept in turning his head away from the possibility. 

“My Father eh?” Naruto turned his glance upwards in surprise at the words having forgotten entirely to have asked the question. Distraction upon himself or not, it had slipped his mind despite his own curiosity. Still, in interest for the conversation, he drew his attention forth, listening willingly for once to someone from his own time since his re-entry. “He was a rather stoic man, and for the time he was an adamant liberal, much to the surprise of his constituents, apparently my grandfather was a traditionalist... He was a stern man… but I know he loved my mother and me more then nary anything, he was a very caring man despite all his bad reputation.” He coughed there, rather embarrassingly flushing upon the wording, Naru could hardly imagine what type of man Jiraiya’s father would have been in character, only envisioning an alpha with a kind disposition matching the personality he had. “Honestly, my Mother was probably the only one keeping my Father from deteriorating, shortly after his… death, my Father left the village, and I ended up in the care of my Godmother. Its not a time I like remembering often.” He grew silent momentarily, a desolate expression crossing upon him as recollection hit his memory.

Naruto did not know how to respond to such a statement. Other then a slight acknowledgement of the similarity his father allegedly had with his own husband. An odd consideration which Naru did not presume would occur, though in looking upon the differing shops scattered within the buildings about them, he hadn’t expected to ever see such a sight again. His mind gave the unwanted turning of a memory in turmoil, just recollecting those he wished to be around. The ground formed a path, obstructed to the Uchiha Compound which stood vacant, desolate, any placement where he could have found comfort was abandoned to the winds. His fists tightened upon the thought. All the while Jiraiya organized his flowers into a more suitable arrangement, a tipid smile over his lips and eyes as he did so, Naruto could only imagine he was thinking of those lost, and in a manner of understanding; Naru knew he was doing the same in his thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” Nothing else seemed appropriate to the revelation, Naruto had not thought that his own mentor had been through such a trial with his own parents. However, being a parent himself, and comprehending the gravity of the situation they must have struggled with changed his opinion from what it would have been originally. Wherein previously, Naruto knew he would have considered it without taking into comprehension the position of Jiraiya’s father, now he understood that the man must have felt all which his son did, and had to fight with the impulses brought while raising his child: No wonder he left the village. 

“Oh, it’s alright, I know Dad did his best.” A frown formed, turned from the smile which had been there before. “I just wish he hadn’t lost it in the end…” The chrysanthemums found themselves clenched tightly as black cast irises turned to the cobblestone walkway. Naru took notice, feeling an empathy forming within himself at the expression made, the depressed desolation firmly shown over the strong face he normally saw such strength and joy upon, it shook him to comprehension that even brave individuals could lose their ability, even if only temporarily. 

“Lost?...-” Maybe it was a rude question to ask, and he knew as much, but it felt like a piece of the puzzle which was a necessary knowledge. 

“-Lost his mind. At least, I think that’s what happened, Auntie never really explained it fully, he didn’t like thinking of it at all. Apparently they ended up fighting, which is the only thing I’m certain of actually happened. But from what I understand, Dad lost his mind  _ while _ they were fighting, my Godmother reluctantly won… and had to kill my Dad as a result… But that’s all I really know. After that, my clan heritage was concealed to protect my identity so I wouldn’t be killed by a rival clan or one of my parent’s enemies. I was supposed to get my name back so that I could become the leader of my clan, but that didn’t happen…” There was much not spoken of in his explanation, still Naruto felt the pressure of such a life over him, he had not considered Jiraiya, a sage, a sannin, to have lived such a life. Worse still, in his voice remained an anger, a deep detestment for the events, normally Naruto wouldn’t have responded upon such a violent response. However, this was Jiraiya, and the man had always been an outspoken pacifist. It surprised him. 

* * *

The morning began with a small chaos, even within the  _ mourning era  _ as many of his own had begun to speak of it _.  _ It was despite the want for peace that all persons could not avoid the needed bustle involved with everyday life. Madara had taken himself to forcing a particular normality upon his routine, dropping off Jiraiya at what had turned into a firm Senju-made Shinobi Academy -regardless of there being one in place for the Uchiha children, Naru had made certain to enroll their son in the Senju produced Academy for the sake of inclusivity. A position which Madara respected and adhered to under his bride’s wishes.- After which, he attended a meeting produced under himself, Naori,  Hikaku, and Naru who represented the Uchiha Omega, now the position was upheld by Uchiha Taiji; Hikaku’s wife. Then, following this meeting for the clan, Madara walked to the Hokage building in order to check upon differing proposals and bills introduced unto the village for legislation. Though he could only spend a couple hours there before he had to go and pick-up Jiraiya, often with Hashirama following alongside in joyous chatter. 

As it were presently, the boy had only just restarted his education after having had a week absent following the death of his mother. The difficulty Madara had adapted to which Naru had always made certain to have had prepared, was a mid-day meal, that is, a lunch for his son during break; Madara knew with a certainty he was no professional cook, struggling avidly with properly making simplistic rice, hunting was an easy feat in comparison to the task of cooking for a child he found. 

The patriarch took a reluctant notice that all his duties parental or otherwise were at least marginally more difficult without his matriarch by his side. Despite not having known his Mother as long, Jiraiya had begun to miss Naru’s continual presence as it were. Naru had been everything to the young boy, and Madara was uncertain of his own ability to replace such an influential idol. Hashirama, as an Omega had attempted to insert himself, not as a replacement, but as an aunt like figure as Godmother, Madara honestly appreciated the help brought rather than saw an incursion as a replacement upon his bride. The only issue Madara held was with Uzumaki Mito, the woman formerly regarded as Hashirama’s wife, she had taken the stance of near gay regard whenever Madara had encountered her, perhaps her position was disregarded, however, Madara knew her technical period of mourning was not yet over, and such a joyous disposition was more then slightly ill-appropriate in regard to Naru’s death; his own bias over the matter discluded. As from what the Uchiha knew, even Tobirama found the affair troubling. 

“Madara-sama?” His ill-temper uprose at the stoic sound of Mito’s voice behind him, even so, he turned to address her visage, as regardless of his well-known aggression to the woman -amongst his clan- it would still affect his reputation if he merely disregarded her. Already, his positioning around the Senju had begun to degrade; partially, he imagined, by the influence of Tobirama spreading unfavourable rumours now that Naru was gone -an assumption he had yet to prove. “I wished to address you on the positioning of the Uchiha District. By simple logical standard, it maintains too much space then is necessary for a minority-” A moment passed before he understood her point of issue, and his ire began to rise prematurely. 

“-Minority? Uzumaki, my clan is a Majority of Konoha and has been since its foundation. While our numbers are less then your married clan, we do match to the Hiruzen and even the -yet- unallied Yamanaka. Thus, your point is disregarded Mito-san.” Thereupon his finished statement, he turned and attempted to ignore the woman making such a valid case for her face to meet a fist. Madara did not expect her to continue so avidly.

“Well, considering the death of your bride, I cannot expect your people to remain-" Something violent occured within him in a trigger he could not anticipate. Mentality flew in complication, and Madara looked upon himself to find his hand around her thin throat, near snapping her neck. 


	5. Chapter 5: Red Challenge

The cliffside of Konoha ever remained a lonely place, there were birds grass and flowers always sitting upon it. Before everything he’d thought of it as a good training ground for those who had no desire to be found. Now upon him it bore as a escape from a recollection which he had no want to relive, pleasant though it may be. So, as he sat with no peace within himself over the cliffedge: He wondered why shinobi- why individuals had to fight when peace was obtainable, the cause, the meaning behind bloodshed, but he could find no answer, and no rational explanation. The day was warm, full skies, a gentle calming breeze fresh with the scent of sakura blossoms, and beneath him as he could see the village was budding itself with new buildings and a sense of community incorporating itself into a valley grown of blood and gore.

The slight of gentle footsteps echoed in his ears, a warm chakra embedding itself into his senses. Emotions within him were already chaotic, seeing an array of soothing brown felt placating, at least marginally. For a moment, he wished for the tones of the sky to greet him when he turnt to look; those of bright calming yellow, aqua navy and indigo blues amongst a tannin none could replace. Unfortunately, the momentary hope was faded by the vision of his Godmother staring upon him in sadness he wished not for. “Jiraiya-chan, you should not be upon the cliffedge, you could fall.”

The boy sitting in his lonesome smiled grinned as he might, then stood, looking over the village as he had been. Daring gravity to take him down as he made to pose, sticking his hand out. “I won’t fall Oba-san! I am the great Jiraiya, the son of Uchiha Madara and- after all!..” Something held his voice down as he stuttered, forcing him to sound as a man struck with no emotion. Then his foot slipped easily off the edge, and he fell. Caught only by the wooden beams reaching around him from the rock surface. A position uncomfortable, and yet expected, Jiraiya held confident that his Godmother could protect him and no mere accident would take him while the Hokage lived; and that brought the young Uchiha a great comfort.

He was pulled back to a shake of a brown hair and an expression of disappointment upon the visage of the only motherly figure he had left. “Honestly… Jiraiya-chan you were not this clumsy before your moth-” A stare took them both then, one fierce, hardened. The other surprised, soft and carrying sympathy. It was broken by the latter, who stood smiling and reaching forth a comforting hand. “Why don’t we go find your father?” Jiraiya said nothing, only a pout graced his features as a blank sensation continued to fill him inside. Yet, instead of speaking clear his feelings burning deeply, he merely took Hashirama’s hand and walked forward along with his ‘aunt,’ to his house.

Small, black eyes looked over the district he called family, many persons who knew those lost wore much blackened tones their heads turnt firmly to the ground. Upon himself too was such an apparel, he donned a black robe matching those of his clan, clashing with his mutating hair. His hand tightened with that of his only Omega family, but though warm Hashirama’s chakra was, Jiraiya found hardly a comfort from it, unto him and to any whom had felt it, his mother’s chakra was hot. Before him, just ahead, the figure imposing above all the others stood directing and listening, his father, standing as a pillar over all other the warriors around him. Jiraiya watched, simply gazing as his father remained continuous, not a hesitance in his movements, giving directions, listening to suggestions in a firm disposition, maintaining a stirn and stoic visage.

“Madara! I thought you would be at home, perhaps resting?” A hinting irritation was made within the question.

With a wave of dismissal the other Uchiha’s gave a brief bow to the patriarch and went on their separate ways. Frustration made itself clear upon the Uchiha leader for the sight of a friend only disturbing him. Though in view of his son a simper made its way to his face, and he beckoned the saddened boy closer, where they met to hug happily.

“Did you have a good day Jiraiya-chan?” No harsh tone filled his voice as was so commonly affiliated with the man, while Jiraiya clung to his father with nary a word spoken. Content enough to have his wild hair petted by his father’s worn hand, and to be lifted unto a stern hip despite his age.

“Madara, you should spend time unto yourself, I know that-”

Madara tensed in an anger not well hidden.“Your brother runs the Senju clan now does he not Hashirama? I do not have such luxury of peaceful reprieve, my clan is in need of me as a leader with their Matriarch fallen, and I do intend to see myself fully upon such a duty.” He clung heavily upon his son at that moment, while the young Uchiha turned to his Godmother with a smile and blanketed eyes, no words as his head rested on his father’s shoulder. However, before anything could be spoken by the concerned Hokage, his adviser matched his timing and diverted the entire conversation. “Should you not be resting? You are near due.” Therein, Madara kissed his son’s forehead and turnt himself away from his friend. “Once again, Hashirama, I highly suggest you do not title that child as your daughter. It will only bring her harm.” And nothing further was said.

Hashirama left with a downturned head and eyes brimming with tears not shed.

On the hip which he rested, Jiraiya held tighter to his father. “Otou-sama?” In his tone came a brightness which beforehand had only resided in Madara’s bride. “When will Okaa-sama come back?” All walking ceased suddenly as a shaking breath came from the strongest man of the Uchiha. Within himself, Madara heard a mocking, taunting, growl from the malicious beast he now housed. A silence befell them both, the child sitting patient upon his father’s hip made curious by his own fear of speaking of his mother. Meanwhile his father remained in battle between an emotional violence he had been struggling against for many-a-day and the want to protect his son from the revelation he had faced himself many times. Still, the fearful Alpha looked over to his son beseeching him with wide black eyes confused, but even so, in his glance the simple sight of tears falling answered the question Madara hadn’t known to have existed within himself.

It was not that the boy did not understand the meaning of death, in looking, in holding his son, Madara could recognize the truth so easily forged among warriors. The self-made delusion. “Jiraiya, you know your mother is dead. He was killed, taken from us.” The tears fell harshly then, as rain pouring down rather then trickling.

“NO! Kaa-san is not dead! He fine! He home!...” A silence came then as the boy regained his tears. “Mummy was kill’d. I hate them…”

“Jiraiya…My son, ‘ _When people get hurt, they learn to hate… when people hurt others, they become hated and racked with an unshakable guilt. But knowing that pain allows people to be kind. Pain allows people to grow… and how you grow is up to you.’_ _A person who feels nothing at the death of those close to him is no different then the butcher.’_ Hatred is poisonous. You’re too young to hold it to your breast, remember, you live in a village of peace.”

* * *

In closing the door of his son’s room, a restless sleep begun to a poorly sung song of war. Madara sighed at the life he now knew, cleaning up the plates still on the table after a meal made by his own hand. When a knock sounded and a subtle chakra signature irated his own.

“What do you want Uzumaki-san?” He made no effort to open the door, merely allowed her presence to enter. So she did, welcoming herself inside with not a hesitance, sandals still upon her feet hidden by her white robe. “I do not recall myself inviting you to my home.” Paying no attention to the woman he hardly took notice of her unusual positioning behind him, as her arms spread themselves around his waist. “Mito-san-” Gentle fingers reached over his pectorals, nails painted in red, a burning sensation following over his skin wherever she traced.

Her words burnt his ears in quiet whispers, wrongfully said in seduction. “Oh come now. Your bride was an Uzumaki was he not? How am I any different?” Grabbing him in a manner to which he nearly threw her away, instead he grasped at her delicate hands. Violence and anger melding within him causing him to clutch tightly, and experience told him well that should he grasp tighter her bones would break. Which was a temptation he almost made reality, that was when she began a cry in pain, subtle and hardly meant to be heard.

“Do you wish me to snap your neck this time Uzumaki?” She had begun to collapse to the ground, yet still his hold remained. “You would dare come to my home, where my son sleeps, where my bride loved me, and form yourself in seduction. Understand this Uzumaki: were you not the wife of a dear friend of mine, I would have cut away your head from your throat without any hesitance, and buried your body where the river rises to be found by the Senju as a warning.” He turned himself around to face the omega now cowering upon his kitchen floor, teeth clenched in pain as her glare reached upwards to his reddened irises. “The next time you insult my bride by relating him to yourself. I will not restrain myself.” By their own accord, the blackened moons within the red sky shifted into connectivity. Mito remained caught as her world fell away, and a grave torture began.

Madara dropped her hands, two places were in disorder, the bone had moved out of its proper position in her left hand, another cracked bone in her right. She fell to the wood with her hair spreading red over brown, and her eyes widely opened, a scream tore through her throat, accompanied by compulsions upon the ground.

Madara bid himself to ignore her, and walked over her small convulsing figure, entering his son’s room to give comfort from the rippling screams in his home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The quote which Madara says is actually from Jiraiya to Nagato and Orochimaru. 


	6. Chapter 6: Upon the Mind, Desperation

The cliffside had always given itself as a place of comfort, for decades continuing new generations to find resolution upon the stone. Naru had sat himself there, in a self made ignorance of the world below him, and a ponderance of his husband -his homepowa- coming forth to retrieve him. The wind forged the scent upon his tender nose, releasing over him a concept of forgery, an idea.

Therein, the Uchiha rose from his perch on the First Hokage’s regal figurance and with a music heard only to himself made a dance which was taught upon him many a year ago by a gay young Uchiha Omega: In a home with a dented pan and a watchful Alpha faintly smiling within the corner, polishing her ōdachi. Faintly sparkling wood around him, and a caution in the air, his jumpsuit brightly contrasting against the colours of simplicity. His eyes were closed, yet the vision remained continual, a joy fuelling his movements at the sights before him. The door slammed open however, and Naori perched herself to kill the intruder, while Kou grabbed at the pan beside them.

Until: “Naruto!” His eyes snapped to realization and the visage of masked silver greeted him, instinct drove him then, the movements which he forgot to have learnt came to kill the Hatake before him. A recognition stopping himself, however, hardly. With eyes now open, he found himself nearly falling away from the edge of the monument, to death, Kakashi’s arms the only held he had keeping him away from a certain death. A thanking gratitude formed on his tongue, alas, Naru found himself staring at the silver hair before him and pushing the man away.

“Get off me!” His own voice came out near a scream, frightened by the distrust he felt around a man he’d known all his life, his arms wrapping in comfort around his own frame. Yet, he stood in conflict glancing, staring, upon the man from the corner of his eye, watching for a brash movement in indication for attack despite his knowledge that it would not happen. The silver hair was refracting light in a subtle glimmer, familiar in memories, prior and after his son’s birth, killing to survive. Though everything else was looking over him in recognition, Kakashi’s mask, his eyes, pale skin, lopsided headband. Naruto found himself weakened at the simultaneous visions, wanting so desperately to cry, his restraint hurt. His own, orange-clad arms tightened around his figure, he looked again at the Hatake beside him, but his head hurt at the visage, and he could only stare at the green vest.

“Why don’t we get you to Tsunade-sama.” No question was asked in the suggestion, and no hand reached out to touch him, yet still Naruto knew he was being guided to the- woman’s office. The pathway down unknown to his irises, the stairway a sight which he wished vacant. His legs, his feet dragged at him, longing to remain at the cliffside. But he forced a cooperation from his own wants, managing reluctantly to reach the Hokage building. Seeing for himself the appearance of altered, wrong, walls and yet, he expected to see a pinktailed Hashirama walk from one of the doorways, smile over to him, and gossip with him the new news within clans.

Alas, all he saw once walking through his own door was the sight of a blonde Omega, which for a moment he did not see as Tsunade. Hazel looked through him, as he imparted upon her a stoic stare fueled by the fear he was unwilling to showcase. She flicked her manicured, red nail bidding his escort away. Though her stare remained firmly fixated upon him in what Naruto knew to be questioning, he had seen it several times before after all.

“You were missing for several months Naruto. Team six found you in the Valley of The End, collapsed on the statue of Madara, eyes closed, severely affected by chakra depletion. But the question remains, where have you been?” He didn’t have an answer plausible to relay upon her. So he waited for her to continue. “It has been suggested by some members of the council, and various citizens in high positions that you went rogue.” The implication snapped his anger into place within his chest, and he looked away, breaking his stare to the right side wall.

Memories ran wild within his mind, screaming for freedom. Wishing for the sight of a ridiculous head of hair to come through the door, look at him, to smile hiddenly with his eyes, walk to his side, Jiraiya holding his father’s hand before running directly into the skirt covered legs of his mother. Filled with burning cold empty emotions, he responded. “I don’t know.”

A sigh greeted him as silence filled the room. “Come in.” She called, and rather uncaringly he glimpsed to the door. Watching as Yamanaka Ino entered, behind her a head of pink belonging to Haruno Sakura. Naruto did not bother himself to acknowledge them, starring instead at Tsunade, waiting for an explanation. “Naruto,” she stood appearing to loom before him as a Hokage should, and he absently compared her to Hashirama whom still remained the tallest Omega he had ever seen.

“We have already probed your mind. However, many of your memories are sealed, kept from us by the Kyuubi it would seem. Still, Inoichi-san did find what he described as: ‘quaking memories, and tidal thoughts, a deep fear of something.’ That concerns me. We have not yet established your innocence Naruto, so I will be confining you to Konoha for the next two weeks, or until we can affirm your complete innocence and the intention of your leaving. Furthermore: you should be made aware that you have been charged under suspicion of murder by the council alongside their avid belief of your abandonment to Konoha and the Land of Fire.” He twitched at the mention of murder, but forced himself to calm and do nothing further, remembering vividly a lesson Naori had imposed upon him, the telling of the council’s perceptions biding him little surprise. “Despite that, what Inoichi-san said worries me, he is convinced that you were either tortured in some manner or forced into a grievous violence by your captors. A stance vidicating your innocence which I would love to take myself, but-” She gave him a brief smile, a megar tilt of her glossed lips, “I do not have the luxury of choosing where I stand in matters of state, I must remain neutral for the good of the village.” That was when Ino moved forward, and Naruto tracked her movements, soothed in slight by the small smile she gave him before turning to face her Hokage. “However, under the recommendation of our own chief interrogation expert I will be assigning Yamanaka Ino as your counselor for the duration of this… process.”

The confused -former- matriarch near gave in to his temptation of rejection, but under circumstances and the strict teaching of restraint from his experience as a mother and bride he held himself steady. Instead, he breathed as deeply as he might, and forced every limb in his body to act as Uzumaki Naruto. “Eh!? What about Sakura-chan?!” Only within his eyes did the reluctance show itself, blankly staring at the Senju before him, were he born an Uchiha rather then wedded into the role his irises would be in a swirling red.

To break the challenge not made Sakura moved herself forward, as Tsunade looked towards her student. “Sakura is with the Intelligence Team investigating the dead child found in your apartment Naruto. She is here to report to me their findings, that is all you may know.” There was a very brief contest of wills, but Naruto found himself retreating under the pressure of brutalizing memories within his mind. “Ino will be serving as your guard as well as your counselor, thus you will be staying with her. Dismissed.” Her nod shooed them both from the room as Sakura decorously made her report on progress, one which the Uchiha wished to overhear, but Ino’s cast over turquoise eyes vanished the idea from his thoughts.

They met with Kakashi in the hall, positured and waiting with a book opened and one eye fixated on his student and the Yamanaka to follow him. A remembrance came to the depressed blonde then, stilled, watching his teacher in a quiet Ino would not comprehend. Then, despite himself, Naru raised his chin, staring -glaring to the blank, blackened eye resting upon him. For a moment baring upon him the stare so learnt by the days borne witness to Madara’s most serious orders- Uchiha Naru glaring into the Hatake before him.

Uzumaki Naruto then came forth through a brightened, fully fashioned and joyful grin, eyelids completely and tightly closed. Speaking in a lively happiness befitting his personality without death, motherhood, and marriage inflicting upon him maturity. “You people killed Kou. You people tried to kill my son, my husband, my family! I hate you!” The grin fled, a scowl and ice irises infiltrated within the one eye before him. Naruto’s body quaking in an emotion uncontained, deep encompassing the omega. Ino beside, took quick action while Kakashi had already put away his novel in readiness for an unwanted confrontation with his own student.

* * *

Madara sat inside, eyes primly focused upon the inked writings before him, a cup of sencha tea beside the scroll he read from. However, no knowledge reached to his thoughts as the report he stared upon was showing upon him as insignificant. In its stead posed a morale question onto his mind, confusing him as a shinobi -a warrior, and as a father it rendered him within the boundaries of depression.

To glance upon his questioning mind by the life he had lived, by that of his own childhood he found no similarity and little wisdom. By the vision of his own father and mother, bloodlines determined reliability, a belief upheld by his grandfather, great-grandfather, through generations of the main family for centuries. Madara knew himself to be the only one to break upon that traditional mistrust, the rebel of his own family. The problem upon his thoughts was the morality which he had learnt as a child was not relevant unto his own son. The teachings which he had upheld throughout his life as a warrior did not correspond with the life of a man inside Konoha, not properly.

Closing his eyes, he wished for his bride’s ethical vision. Wished for Naru to explain upon their son the importance of life, the painful line between morality and the life of a shinobi. Madara raised himself from the table, crossing his room to look upon the portrait made recently as a burial gift from the Yamanaka Clan. An image displaying himself standing proud as a patriarch gunbai in hand. Beside him, stood Naru, his matriarch however, did not pose was a subservient omega. Instead, he leaned upon his homupowa with his back upon his arm and shoulder, both his fans opened and ready for battle while he looked to the viewer. A smile cresting his face rather then a challenging glare, smirk, or mocking express. Madara could not bare to hold his gaze to the painting for more then a minute, always casting his eyes elsewhere as emotions impede upon him. 


	7. Chapter 7: A New Bride, A Murderous Memory

Upon the morning of a spring day did he find himself wandering into the old Uchiha compound -no longer a proud district, it still stood in honour despite none being within. A golden was creeping upon the horizon as the sun made herself known, Amatarasu was a cruel mistress by the standard Naru found himself now keeping. Mentality steeped in rational told him to turn away and back towards the Yamanaka home, alas, that voice rang softly in comparison to the screaming memories burning his mind; those which drew him to the abandoned graveyard. In walking, in vacantly listening to the gentle sounds of his feet on the stones, he heard in addition the birds singing above as if in reverence. Naru saw nothing to revere, a simplistic distruction about him, and loss: Destructive thoughts thence following, as considerance for his own actions against the Hatake clan plagued him. Had the gods bid him hatred for having abolished a clan? Was that his reasoning for being here once more? Was the punishment upon his actions; for a once gentle Uchiha to go into madness and slaughter his clan?

He shook himself, there was nothing to consider.

To glimpse about, to stare at each ancient structure, he saw that which he had helped build, if only marginally. Risking himself, by stature of emotional stability, he looked where his old home once stood and in his own surprise saw it to still remain. Expectation had him in the belief that Konoha would have torn it away under the pretense of…. _Madara's attack._

His mind took him into misery then. As realization crashed upon him as a hurricane upon a village, understanding that at some point within the past Madara would fargo himself to madness and attempt to kill Hashirama and all which they had cherished once… Worry impeded him, for Jiraiya, a grave concern rattled at his mentality, should all proceed as designed then their son would be made to suffer under his father's actions.

It was cautious, but Naruto found himself stepping towards his home, sliding the door and stepping inside. Even, taking away his sandals. "Tadaima…" A whisper he barely acknowledged flew past his lips to the sound of a deep silence. The panels were cold upon his bare feet, but no shiver followed the sensation. In moving forth, the frigid air surrounding was welcoming upon him, Naru felt it to be a feeling similar to that of his husband's chakra, the aura about him was that of his homupowa and even that of his son.

A ridiculous memory surfaced then, for a purpose he could not name, it held no significance. Yet, a giggle escaped him, and a warmth burned in his chest in melancholy.

* * *

_He was staring down upon the tea, if that title could fit well upon it. As it had been prepped by Jiraiya in an attempt. Though, he knew not how the failure had been made, in considering that he had been watching the entire process as precaution. Naru knew well, he could never bare the rank of an expert of tea or of kaiseki, however, there were a few minor particulars he stood aware of. Mainly, being that tea of this type at least, should not be made cold. Alas, before him was placed a tea of frigid temperature. A mystery, as he had witnessed Jiraiya boiling the water. "It is… A well made attempt, sweetheart." He smiled at his son, a mystery indeed. Yet, as Naru knew he, himself, was made an omega of odd make, he should expect nothing less for his alpha child._

_Madara had been away for nary a week. Securing alliance with the Yamanaka by Hashirama's request. Naru had wished to aid, but alas, the Yamanaka was an alpha clan, highly traditionalized, should he -an omega- have been sent as ambassador it would have serviced no one but his own desires, which would have helped nothing. As it stood, he had been left to manage the clan and care for any political matters that occurred in his husband's absence. Considering his negligible experience in politics and strategy as Uzumaki Naruto, he had managed to adapt to his role as matriarch with an unexpected ease. As it stood Madara was due to return today, hopefully with news of a newly formed alliance._

_"Kaa-sama! Drink!" That caused him to hesitate, cold tea was normally not a pleasant experience, alas he had no desire to insult Jiraiya by not enjoying the drink he had put much effort into creating. Luckily, a tapping sound echoed vaguely within his ears, and a sigh escaped him in a relief he failed to hide._

_Rising, he moved to the door "sounds like your father's home eh Jira-chan?"A smile uplifted his face then, glad to see his homupowa once more, it had been merely a week, still, he had missed the company and stoic presence provided by the man. Glancing back to the young boy behind him, he smiled at the pure joy upon his face._

_However, another tap sounded, this time overhead, on the roof above him, it took only a moment for him to take his realization for what it was. Swiftly as he might, Naru ducked down, moving his leg back to step and pulling with its momentum as he pushed backwards with his arms, sliding back out of range from the sudden katana flashing before his vision, behind him he heard Jiraiya scream in a quickly made terror._

_Naru felt himself take upon an understanding with no hesitance; his main priority flashing before him in clarity, to protect the only heir of the Uchiha clan, and most imperatively, his son. Thence, as the attacker jumped through the window and the youngest Uchiha retreated back in his fright, Naruto moved forth, his fans coming at his bid from under his sleeves._

_First, though, they received a punch to their face, it happened to be luck that he was close enough to block their arm as their blade -which was in fact a tanto rather then a katana- came directly for his side. The block was pure luck, while the forward kick he delivered to their abdomen was made of built spite. By the same standard the unexpected movement from his attacker staggered him momentarily, they had an agility which he still did not possess, and it was being swiftly used to their advantage as they ducked beneath the kick he was making towards their crouched head, and used the inertia to reach for Jiraiya, cowering behind him for safety._

_Naru knew not what feeling rose to encompass him in that moment. However, rage was certainly involved, Kyuubi stirred within. In such emotion, his claws unsheathed, and grew in a manner he hadn't known possible. A built up want to destroy them, he had never held the strong desire to kill anyone before, regardless of his history with the Hatake clan, it hadn't been a desired massacre; it did in fact continue to weigh upon him in guilt. Now however, the urge was not filled with hesitance, but hatred._

_Then a loud and echoing crash sounded from the entrance, Naru felt a emmass of relief as he spotted his husband's towering figure encompassing the space to the doorway, blocking the light, and staring down in a glare of red glowing from the shadow he formed. Within a instant the intruder disappeared through the roof, and Madara attempted to follow._

_"Madara, don't!" The pause was instantaneous. A glare quickly directed upon him, Naru knew that Madara's instinct was to kill anyone whom threatened the clan, and especially their son. Naru held a similar urge, however, a feeling impeded him, in watching the intruder flee. As if a trap was waiting for Madara to walk straight into it, mentally Naru knew that should his husband die he would lose himself to Kyuubi in a fit of complete rage._

_"What Naru, they tried to kill you!" His voice had deepened into a low pitch which Naruto found himself flinching at the intensity of. Jiraiya twitched at his father's sudden voice. Their reactions had the large alpha Uchiha snap his mouth closed in regret. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation._

_"It might be a trap, they had to expect you to return soon." By expectation, Naru received a glare which spoke much of Madara's mindset. Naturally, his husband had taken to the mentality of judgementality, Naru could say nothing to shift his mind, not that he had much want to change Madara's thoughts on the matter._

_"Naru…"_

* * *

He woke then from the memory, and into the home which he had once called his own was abandoned with only memories to keep it company. It had left him, the sensation of comfort, his husband long lost, along with his son and friendships. It was a vision he hadn't expected, nor wanted, with the memories returning with a clarity that brought forth a painful burn within. Especially the sight of his husband's visage, indeed, that was the shaking sight of witnessing onyx irises turning to look upon him with a marking shock; that is Madara's eyes staring upon him with confusion he could no longer plainly understand.

Naruto found himself sitting once more, the cold of the wood underneath him startling his system slightly. However, the air around him was familiar enough to bring the sight of his small son before him, unexpectedly, he could see a pregnancy belly upon himself for a moment with the illusion of the child he never birthed. In blinking, the fake sight broke, and he stood once more with an ease he hadn't expected.

He moved then, in a direction he choose in revelation of where his husband would make himself famous, keeping hidden within the compound by the buildings he shouldn't know, and as Amaturatsu made herself visible by the horizon remainly carefully hidden from the sight of Ino, should she make an appearance under the warrior goddesses vision. Unfortunately his timing marked him wrongfully, as the light cast upon him under a simple moment of his movement wrongfully chosen. A streak of lightened blonde steamed before his eyes, and it was within a second which he managed to block the heightened kick rising before his nose, his arm coming quickly to block in a trained movement Madara had taught him many years previous. To which he continued on the gesture by turning her leg around into a circle and tucking it beside himself as he jabbed her in the chest with his elbow. Backing up under the swift agility only an Uchiha Omega could truthfully make within the Uchiha district -compound, with the knowledge only they possessed of the buildings about them.

He met her surprised glimpse with a glare he hadn't possessed previously, but with his newly held eyes of an Uchiha Matriarch, the stare came forward without a hesitation. However, his own mind was in a captivation of consideration, as he remained stuck within the memories he could clearly see of the past which he no longer could live inside. Mainly witnessing that of his son's beautiful growth which he had not truly seen, even witnessing Kou as he attempted to teach him what he hadn't known of the clan and of Madara before they had been drawn together. Naori, in her mourning, as she continued to aid the clan in its growth, for a moment, seeing himself as a mother as a matriarch, yet that sight he could not fully grasp it was blurred by the vision of what had changed under the past. Ino appeared unto him as a simple sight of the Yamanaka which his husband had been attempting to ally with. It was a vague consideration, but Naruto did wonder if hers had been the clan to have slain him under the want to avoid alliance.

"Uzuamki, I can give you a little leeway under my own understanding that you must have been through much, but not enough to let you go wherever you wish. Please, come back with me downtown, I cannot let you leave the village regardless of whatever you might've been through." Her grip held his arm tightly as she gently grasped him with a careful hesitance.

* * *

Witnessing the vision of his son seeking his deceased mother was something which Madara did not know how to address in proper protocol. There remained the idea of simply speaking the truth which Jiraiya should already acknowledge, however, the concept of easily addressing such an ideal was one which Madara did not fathom as something he could do without strain weighing upon him continually. By a cowardice he hadn't known to have possessed, he had considered asking Hashirama to speak to his Godson forth of, alas, such was a thought he avoided with vigour as it remained improper in fatherhood. The concept, in wondering how Naru would have addressed the issue, he imagined would have simply gotten him a large punch to the nose.

Jiraiya-chan was young, presently only holding the age of five, and by his own logic Madara could clearly witness his son not comprehending the disappearance of his mother, or indeed, the little sibling which he was looking forward to in the near future. While Tsunade's birth had delighted the boy somewhat, he still waited for his mother to come through the screen door within the evening and make dinner, instead it was his Godmother to enter, with his three-year-old daughter and be an entertainment.

Under his own methodology, Madara could no longer find a way to properly ignore his bride's disappearance, and by Naori's highly reluctant suggestion he had taken to seeking within the village under the pretense of finding a new mother-in-law for his son. That is, a new wife, under the consideration of perhaps requiring another matriarch as his right-hand had suggested might be needed, even under her own hatred for the concept. Regardless of his own consideration for the idea, in looking upon his family -that is, his clan, it came upon him as a necessity which might be required for all, not simply that of his child. However, as Naori had mentioned upon him, wedding a new omega would bring nothing unto himself but a plainness of mind.

His own friend had disregarded the idea, whence he had mentioned it unto him. In an odd method, Hashirama had brought the suggestion of wedding to him as opposed to someone else, for the ease of knowing each other. Madara had shaken the possibility, though he still highly regarded his friend, he knew he would never find it within himself to marry Hashirama regardless of their long respect for each other. A lingering remembrance of the Senju's failure to save his bride remained forever upon his frontal lobe, despite his own want to dismiss the memory, in addition to his best friend's technical marriage to the Uzumaki woman, the Uchiha could not simply dismiss the acknowledgement of all the village knowing of their Hokage's fake marriage, to suggest wedding Hashirama himself was more than foolish.

Regardless, looking about himself among the Senju for a new bride, under the requirement of his clan served little purpose itself. By Naka's friendship with a woman under the name of Miko he had been lured into a courtship of sorts with her, a plain woman with long raven toned hair, pale near ceramic skin, and irises the most average colour of navy, by comparison which he naturally drew; Madara took notice that her facial shape was pointed unlikened to that of his former bride's whom had a heart shaped facial form -tanned, near dark, brightened, blue irises, golden spun hair as if formed of amaturatsu's shield.


	8. Chapter 8: Rainful Memory

**This is totally a Filler.**

* * *

Sasuke, so came forth a name he hadn't expected to draw upon in consideration. Alas, he found himself sitting amongst the company of Yamanaka Ino and so remembering his old friend in a random bid of recollection. It came upon the glimpsing thought of his time just before having been transported within his -now- favoured time frame; in remembrance, he could recall having been seeking, chacing the Uchiha to bring him back to Konoha. Then, as it so occurred by pure happenstance, he had ended up in a romance, in a marriage, with his best friend's long-ago ancestor, indeed a man whom had been and remained a legend amongst those of his own generation. -Well, Naru considered, was he in truth an Omega of this generation? Or did he belong to Madara and Hashirama's time? The question was one which he pertained no actual answer unto.- In sitting sipping upon the mint tea Ino had brewed, he had taken to looking about himself in an evaluation of change- naturally, he had somewhat done one already in watching the buildings shift by him in his walk.

The understanding he had come to was that his village had managed to alternate drastically away from what he was accustomed to, in thinking of his clan, their shrinking from a proud district to a minimalized compound was near insulting. In fact, upon himself, it was a large insult unto his pride as an Uchiha Omega, Naruto had taken to regarding his Clan name as a point of considerable honour within the village despite never being known or acknowledged under such a title. Indeed, as he stared into his tea, a vague smile came in the form of a small outline as he recalled his own stupidity while having been courted by his husband. That is several occurrences in which he had completely forgotten his knowing of Madara's future infancy as an enemy of Konoha.

He took a sip of the green in his cup, glancing upwards and outwards of the window to his left with his chin on his hand, watching at the beginning rain drizzling outside. Somewhere within his eyes, the deep navy began to merge amongst the pale blue resting in his irises, this, as his memories coalesced together into a romantic drifting he gladly allowed himself to drop within. It brought the much joyous thought of his homupowa, even alongside those memories came the glimpsing visions of his clanmates, a welcoming visage of Kou in all his brunette beauty, simpering in his direction while holding tightly onto Naori's arm a bright gleam shining within his eyes. Naori stood glaring at first, but slowly she came to a smile, a small twinkle in her irises. Naka stood beside her with his wife Uchiha- _nee Lee_ Sakura with her shimmering black hair and enlargened -protruding- muscles. Alongside them were those whom he knew well as friendships; Uchiha Baru and Uchiha- _nee Senju_ Waki, Uchiha Hikaku and Uchiha- _nee Nara_ Taiji, even amongst them stood Bou and Uchiha- _nee Sarutobi_ Wakaba, Rai too, and his newly-made wife of the Akimichi clan, Naiha. The recollection came upon him as a cruel consideration which he found in a bitterness, pained by the understanding that he would not be standing beside his clanmates under the cooling chakra of his husband's body.

The scene shifted then, wherein he was then sitting beside Madara in the gleaming bright sunlight upon the peaceful cliffside. Above them sat Daisuke perched in contentful rest, beside them lay Jiraiya on top of his father's lap and happily sleeping as a young boy should, Naruto watched the scene, as his own hand began to pet at his son's spikeful fatherlike hair, it was a brief moment, but he saw himself lean in to kiss at the corner of Madara's lips. Watching at the stoic man gave a grin, as his own indigo eyes looked upon the village scenery. Hashirama's pregnant visage walked up to them then, and the warm memory broke.

Naruto sighed heavily as he drew himself up from his resting position on the window, sipping at his semi-cold tea as he stared upon the falling raindrops. With his cup at his mouth was when the door opened, and he turned automatically to the possible attacker -despite his own doubt in regards to the latter possibility, especially in seeing the youngest Hyuga heiress walk inside with her jacket covering herself from the rain. By his own experience, Hinata was rarely a threat to anyone, and by the standard, he now held in lew of his experience during the time of the first Hokage, she was hardly a threat at all. It brought him into a light worry for the girl in truth, with such skill she could easily be killed by anyone of average abilities. And despite his own belief that all persons could be shinobi, he had no desire to watch a friend die. The Hyuga was a woman whom had always been of a kind disposition to all, even unto himself, and Naruto, therefore, regarded upon her in friendship. No matter the simplistic fact, he wouldn't want her to parish regardless. Yet, it still stood, that being cautious in watching her entrance would protect him from nothing, Hinata would do nothing unto him. Or anyone, he doubted.

It was rather random unto his own mind, especially considering his current mindset, but he chose to greet her. "Hey, Hinata!" A grin even smoothed itself onto his lips unexpectedly. Moreso in amusement, as she flushed a brightened pink and crashed into a coathanger in her attempt to back away from him, for the reason only she knew in certainty. The laugh he let forth in response was quite automatic, despite his own quick movements to aid her flustered self. A quite accidentally gripping moment, as by his own quick motions in an attempt to help he managed to grab at her arse while he was trying to grab ahold near her tailbone. Then by his own reluctance of the action and the accident which it was, he flung his hands away quickly, entirely letting go of the girl and causing her to completely lose her balance, and thus fall onto the ground- caught only barely by the quick action of her hands.

He flinched backwards in a pang of sudden guilt.

"Oh! Hinata-chan I apologize, for all my mistakes therein. I most certainly did not attempt to grab you by your- or indeed to drop you thusly." In automatic regulation of simplistic forgiving action, he reached down towards her fallen self to -hopefully- aid her back upon her feet once more. By his own misfortuned luck, she took his hand then, and he managed then to pull her forth without insident.

"Oh… um… ano... t-thats okay n-n-naruto-kun… i don't mind… NO!... I-i- mean… I know you didnt…." He paused a moment, not fully understanding, nor indeed, hearing her underneath the intense mumbling and whispering she always managed to pertain as her own unique quirk. Yet, it came through as comprehensible, and by the interesting manner of her mumble, he found himself grinning towards her blushing face. The way which she held herself reminded him strangely of Wakaba, her demeanour of embarrassment and disconfidence had the same type of conduct as the sick woman he'd once known. It gave him a warming thought in consideration of the Hyuuga before him, quite random in construct, but, it gave him the memory of how he had met his husband. He knew his own behaviour had originally struck him into ill-favour with the man, however, his own misconduct gave him the recollection of his own bad demeanour before a clan head.

"Chrysanthemums," Naruto said it in a sudden thought but gave no regret towards the word. Happily smiling towards the girl whose hand he still held gently unto. "They're my favourite flowers, red ones specifically. What about you?" It was a question which he made in the want of getting to know Hinata better, under an actual acquaintanceship rather then a simplistic comradence- or acknowledgement. She blinked, pale eyes casting downwards in thought, and a gentle finger roose to her lips.

"Um...white lilies." The answer came quietly, much as he expected. In his own ponderance, and remembrance of the Uchiha meanings which he could recall, he knew that a white lily represented; sweetness and purity.

Much unto his own selfish, egotistical considerence, he drew upon the narcissistic thought; they would represent his son in perfection.


	9. Chapter 9: Pain

It came upon him as a drastic, horrid, uncertain thought. Coming upon him as he’d been spending time with Iruka-sensei as an apology for his earlier behaviour, eating ramen as it were -he had missed it much despite his previous denial of Iruka’s invitation.- His former teacher had mentioned Jiraiya as a simple topic of conversation, it had come upon them under the manner the conversation had been directed unexpectedly. Iruka had in fact brought it up as a question, asking if he -Naruto- had, indeed, heard his mentor mention his parents previously. Obviously as a response, he’d said he had as it had been spoken of in their last meeting, the teacher had merely nodded in expectation to the answer. Then expressed that the sanin’s parentage was rather a mystery among the academy, saying that no one actually knew who they were. That’s when the consideration had come upon him as a possibility; the age of the man had what been diverting him from the cogitation, he thought that Jiraiya was around fifty and evidently it had been many generations since the era of the First Hokage. Thus he hadn’t thought it feasible, alas it was plausible that the man was hiding his true age as Tsunade -if only somewhat.

As the rumination had occurred upon him he’d spilt his ramen by the sudden expressive jerk he gave in shockful realization. Was it indeed conceivable that Jiraiya was actually an Uchiha, that is, was he possibly his and Madara’s son? The capability of it had driven him to leave the ramen stand early as it were and seek out his potential child in order to ask for answers from the man. First looking in the most obvious place he knew of, one of his peering spots. Naruto hoped rather desperately that his father had not been the one to infiltrate such a habit upon their child by beginning it himself after his death. It was a minimal belief, but unfortunately credible, as he could imagine that his husband would have been rather lonely after he’d been killed. As it were he wasn’t certain that Jiraiya would be there, he had many peeking spots within the village, and it could be that he was in none of them at the moment, but Naruto knew he might be lucky in his guess.

By such granted luck he found the man where he had predicted, at the balcony of a building he knew not the actual purpose of. His original intent had been to simply walk forth to the man and greet him first as he normally would, yet as he reached to the spot just behind him his mouth merely froze in place and he ended up snapping it closed, unable to begin in that manner, looking to the ground he wondered what Madara would have said in the same situation. Something direct he could imagine, his forthcoming personality had been one of his own reasonings for dating the Uchiha -regardless of the reminder he gave Naruto to Sasuke in his stoic demeanour and somewhat controlling methodology while in the house.- But despite his husband being smarter than himself, Naruto knew the man wouldn’t have considered it. Naruto found himself feeling nervous, alas he did think it was a question he had the obligation to make.

“Naruto, is something the matter?” Glancing up he found that he’d been turnt towards, a concerned express had come over the -strangely- older man.

“Well… Actually, I was in conversation with Iruka and as it so happened we came upon you in as the topic. Specifically in reference to your parentage. As we had been discussing it in previous I began to wonder if it were conceivable if you were, in fact… the son of Uchiha Madara?” The inquiry came forward far more candid then he would have liked, but alas no regret could erase what had been spoken. Jiraiya responded principally by a silent gasp and widening his eyes in surprise, Naruto had -of course- not expected him to be calm over such a question, Madara had indeed been known as a menace in this time.

Jiraiya then glared towards the ground, then turned back “why would you ask me such a thing?” Even though he had expected the response, the hesitance he held previously, expanded; should he not happen to be related to them then it would seem as a very odd quarry. His assurance began to slip away with the lack of answer as the moments past. Blue eyes cast to the west therein, somehow becoming embarrassed at his own inclination, as Jiraiya gave a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in a squintful clench, pinching his nose in the meanwhile. In dropping his hand in a complete absence of energy and uncertainty he began to speak. “How did you come up with such an idea?”

The Uchiha couldn’t say he knew how to answer upon such a question, which was his reasoning for giving a rather hidden response. “To be…candid I can’t really tell you why... not now at least, it’s complicated and I really don’t think you’ll believe me. Could you just tell me if you are? Please? I.. just honestly need to know.” There came the faint sound of a tongue clicking, perhaps in irritation. Then he plinked away what appeared to be tears, fastly, as it so happened, it drew an anticipatory joy through him at the drawing likelihood, but he forced a calming presentation.

“Yes... I am.” Naru found himself sighing entirely unintentional. Not by disappointment, but by the relief he so suddenly felt under the knowledge, he turned away too, because of the tears he released at his own deeply regretful decision he’d made.

“I..thank you, I have to go now.” Choosing to say nothing further he gave a slight gulp, stuck his clenching hands in his pockets and walked away, slowly under his own painful choice of not telling.

It was then that his arm was tightly grasped. “You cannot just ask me that and not explain why! Naruto do you know how serious a question that is?” He near glared back but couldn’t bring himself to make the gesture, instead looked downwards once more.

“Of course I do.” His words had become limited. “I just can’t right now.” There was no plan to speak to his son about his parentage, yet such an explanation would keep him from asking further. As suspected he sighed away his want to demand proper reasoning, though his hand remained firm in grip. The cold chakra began to encompass his emotions, it brought remembrance which he was not right prepared for the shaking experience of. However, as he forced himself to say something in complaint, Jiraiya spoke once more.

“I was sent, well, choose to take a mission recently.” Confusion came unto him then.

“Is that not a normal occurrence?” Then the hand released, and Naru turned himself back towards his child.

“Well, obviously yes, but I am merely telling you because it is… will be a considerably dangerous mission. One that I may not come back from I mean.” That startled him, and he mistakenly stared directly into his son’s eyes, exactly as his husband’s.

Not knowing what to say his mumbling came forth and he had to think for a minute to himself with the information, therein as to his own action upon the knowledge. It was an obvious decision as soon as it appeared upon his mind, “okay. Either you decline the mission, or I _will_ be coming with you as backup.” It forced a backwards jerk, as he’d much expected.

“Naruto I won’t let you, especially with your position as a jinjuuriki, it’d be far too risky, not to mention dangerous, I highly doubt you’re anyway near ready to fight to head of the Akatsuki.” He crossed his arms, now becoming annoyed at the decline to that which he knew to be happening.

“I do not care. Youn-- older man, as I know you will not be denying the mission I will follow you if you do not simply take me along. It would be best if you merely decided to take me with you.” Jiraiya groaned.

“Fine I’ll speak to Tsunade about it, but she may not agree you know.”

“Once more, I do not care, I’m coming with you regardless.” The man was the one to turn away then. Rather randomly Naru found himself fathoming his impressive height -likely a patrimony, Naru could acknowledge without a bow to his pride that it certainly could not be decent from a matrilineal inheritance; palpably by Madara’s height being conclusive at near six-foot-seven, Jiraiya drew at what the mother could assume to be nearly six-foot-one, while his own stood at a mere five-foot-four. By comparison, he was minimal, as was Hashirama despite the common presumption that he was far taller then Madara, Naru found the entire rumour amusing.

“Yeah, yeah, but I still have to let her know something, just in case she actually does.” The naculent response drew Naruto to squinting in his direction in suspicion as he jumped away to the Hokage’s office. Though he said nothing further, in a shrugging understanding of the answer.

It was in eventuality that he found Jiraiya upon his doorstep maintaining a serious expression, and telling that Tsunade had declined, giving warning that she would cast guards around his apartment. Naru stared upon him in agitation, then nodded, he thought it best to not speak of his own increased abilities and instead wait until his son had already left the village, however, at the time of his departure from the walkway grasped as many ramen containers that he had then leave towards his own home- well previous home.- It would be logical to leave the man with slight headway time priour to leaving the village himself. So he merely turned himself in the direction of the area of the Uchiha Patriarchal house, clutching tight the small instant bowls he held.

The house, as he’d known, was vacant, made by near rotting planks, a still torn door hanging with a replacement slide, echos of shadows remaining friendships that he’d missed. Closing his eyes he could pretend that he stood alright, but the screaming loneliness retained itself, and the echo of whom he had been was the only voice coming back through the wall. The entire surrounding of the wall kept him alone by the memories that clung. Within the place, lacking his family, he did not wish to be alive, stay alive or have to see his son's face grown once more. Alas the encompassing feelings therein made, he pushed to the most dark areas of his mind in rejection. By the weight of his emotions, the stress near put him upon the door in a collapse, but he was reminded that it shouldn’t survive such turmoil.

In managing to steady himself he took to putting all his luggage in the existent cupboards. Then worked back through his old home, finding the feet he appeared to not hold dominion upon leading him into the room belonging to Madara and, well, himself. The had him enter fastly, glimpsing about him in reverence he hadn’t expected to hold as a bodily aged teenager. A smile graced him then. Even more so as the vision of large and small crates in the corner greeted his sights.

They held no proper interlocking seal to stop theft, but instead an Uchiha seal uncommonly placed which Naru gladly knew the meaning of; that is, preventing all persons unrelated to the clan or unwed from seeing the marked property. Flicking the wood lid away he found many differing scrolls within the first box, tied carefully by a twine thread. Naru opened one in caution, he imagined these to have been done by his late husband, thus he knew well enough the Alpha might’ve placed a trap of sorts within the parchment.

Nothing jumped forth, relieving his tensed shoulders, allowing him to witness the beautifully crafted painted portrait of himself. In addition, beside it, there lay one of his homupowa and Jiraiya in a gentile embrace as commonly depicted in traditionalist paintings. Artistry which had him to grin with upcurved eyelids as simplistic smiles, blossoming cheeks of reddened roset, the shimmering sparkle of white shining under his supple grin kept him inside the area for many passing hours, in the pretense of blithesome contentment.

* * *

None came upon him in disruption, as anticipated, thus whence a cooling chakra approached him in his palace of solitude he thought it to be Hashirama in greeting. Naturally, his realization of understanding stunned upon him quickly, and then he thought himself under attack once more within his own home, least it not be as in previous underneath a warming sensation.

The voice was one of alphian dominance that he recognized well. “Naruto. What are you doing here?” Ino spoke, stood over him in a posture of ire. His own arose under the acknowledgement that she had traced him to his own sanctuary.

“Why?”

Her ice blue eyes rolled at his question.

“Well, aren’t you going to say goodbye to Jiraiya-sama as he leaves? He is your teacher is he not? I do hear he’s heading towards the Village of Rain.” 


	10. Chapter 10: Mother's Day Pt.2

Creaking metal, obscuring mists, damning rains blocking sights and the vision of his son sneaking about as if he weren’t six-foot, walking around the district with a hood perched over his head as if a decent convergence. Yet, making himself well as part of the environment, Naru felt his own chest warm in the joy he hadn’t felt for many a week, smiling briefly in the considering that Madara had taught their son well, gazing at the tall man with a soft pride which had not made an appearance for many a year. While he himself had taken upon a disguise in avoidance from being recognized from the Akatsuki’s knowledgeable visions, naturally in that inclusion Jiraiya’s sights as well. He had cast his hair to the colour of Hashirama, and so removed his orange in maintaining a cover that would function, also banishing the whisker marks putting him in distinction. A safe masking that would obstruct his appearance well enough to avoid any thinking him a shinobi, nevermind of Konoha. They were within, what Naru could assume to be the least busy market district, scarce shops lined upon the edges of the bay.

Jiraiya had taken himself to the shop of a woman selling pork buns, presenting himself well and kind, dictating a gentle demeanour into provoking her into gifting information. Under caution, the Uchiha widow found himself sheltering into a corner where he may obstruct himself from any view possibly pierced into his direction by forthcoming want or accident. Regardless his body was well hidden by careful knowledge of the angles he was maintained under. Peeking from where he was given view to the image of his tall son by the shopkeeper, making certain to keep forth his practised training from his husband, Kou, and Naori in order to hold concealment. Naru acknowledged that persons -shinobi- of the present era were far more observant than those who lived amongst the village in his time after much experience in the new types of battles that so happened in modern times, despite the ongoing wars continuously cast in the surrounding forests of his own era and the warring clans whom still maintained battle far away.

As it stood his own son was highly regarded among near all shinobi, extremely capable of guarding his own flank. However, the young mother stood particularly wary of this mission; it was to find and possibly defeat the leader of the Akatsuki to his knowledge. Such risk placed his mind in a constant dance of ill-ease, putting forth all maternal instinct he had accumulated into a panic which he could not appear to settle. He had contemplated under brief thought, on if Madara had stood beside him during his frothing dread then perhaps the man would have held the capability to stop his drastic and reckless action of following their fully grown son into a place of impending danger implicating unto himself. Were it possible, Naru would have cast his homupowa into the Village of the Rain as opposed to Jiraiya. Without hesitance.

The demeanour of the woman was welcome after Naru noticed his son speaking of a magazine, a clever tactic he took note of as he watched. Though his eyes became squinted as he took closer observance of the manner in which everyone cast their eyes after one astray comment. Upon his own information, he knew little of the pouring place, save the rain showers proving themselves marginally continual and the cuisine remaining highly traditionalized. Yet, the strange reception gathered after his son had taken to mentioning Hanzo of the Salamander was odd, Naru himself knew little of the rather infamous leader, however, he had heard scrappings previous to his disappearance, all of which were quite peculiar in their nature.

After settling himself within a disclosed sweetshop he managed to ponder minimally while watching his son’s movements at the front. Both he and Jiraiya ordered a serving of Sencha Green Dango, as they considered their options in how to proceed with the mission. While the matriarch knew his own mission was by technicality watching his child and making certain no harm came upon him -or indeed blocking him from unavoided danger, he was still maintaining a delicate cover in hopes of aiding with the covert task. He bit upon his dango, there would be no simple method to reach to such a widely regarded leader, especially whence he knew not -or rather they knew not- the particular locale the man was stationed within.

To glance his eyes forward and find no outstanding piece of white hair was a large detriment unto him, and he bolted upwards near jounin speed before recalling himself. Exiting the shop, and keeping a restraint manner he forced himself to observe as he had been taught and found his eyes locked upon a ‘ _Makeout Club Battle’_ wherein he knew the Uchiha Alpha would not be able to resist himself from. Uchiha Naru pinched at his nose very intently, feeling a sudden, large, urge to punch his own child over the head with a frying pan, much like he had learnt from Kou’s skilled fingers.

While the meager hope he pertained was that his own husband had not been the one to pass on perversion to their son.

Nevertheless, he shook himself fully and perched on the roof, avoiding any eyesight that may astray upon him. He required to see where Jiraiya went after leaving, the likelihood remained -despite his perverse nature- that he was gathering a form of information from one of the Omega’s within. As it stood, being an Omega he would be unable to enter without considerable attention drawn unto him thusly -and being as only Alpha’s were allowed within, he would need to remain above or in a good vantage point to the side wherein he could see from many possible angles. Naturally, the roof posed the best advantage unto his vision.

A large metal door opened to outstep a reasonably busty woman grabbing a letter, in order to keep himself at best advantage he split himself into three further clones -obscured by the rain, he fathomed. Then began to watch from each separate side, himself keeping sight on the woman down below. Her face was distorted by frustration, while her steps were large and stomped, agitation clearly depicted, all the same as she threw the letter away. Who turned out to be his son maintaining a well placed henge.

Naru began to follow the quick retreat he jumped within.

A moment halted him swiftly however, with the sudden upcomence of a kunai flying upon his nose. Gentle in nature it so happened, a voice speaking unto him with a mellow deepened pitch- speaking upon him his own name. One pitch the Uchiha matriarch recognized with an understanding that shook him forward in shock, having his legs collapse from beneath him, near slamming onto the concrete below. Naru pressed himself up and around with a speed matching that of his old comrade Tobirama. To find the vision of nothing about him, no one, there remained no voices surrounding, nor the repeat of his own name cast by his husband’s gentle deep monotone.

With aggravation circling his thoughts, and the consideration of a possible delusion upon his mind, he forces his legs to jump forth and away. In successive pace to Jiraiya’s destination, best he may reach with a distraction having taken his own minimal priority as if he were a simplistic genin. He wondered if he should draw his son’s attention, and make the mission one of two, it was possible that his aid would benefit his son in sizable standard. Yet, Naru knew that should he do so, he as Uzumaki Naruto would be a fathomless disguise to Jiraiya. Perhaps the sanin would not comprehend him fully as Uchiha Naru: His mother, alas, the compromise would be great.

No, he chose, it would be a best decision to wait until his son had managed to get into a serious situation, as it were, the most information he could retrieve as palpable would be the most beneficial unto Konoha. Therein, to wait would be his only option, despite the urge dragging his feet forward to interfere, under protective instinct such as parental need that he could not heed to. Yet, to watch the capture so carefully constructed and to acknowledge that it would be his child conducting an interrogation hurt upon his still fragile soul. While entering the bar was that which he could not do in possible choice, a clone would be able without issue, he himself standing outside in watch. Thus, that was what he performed, sending the copy with the simplest instruction, hoping to be taken as an astray customer wanting a drink, rather then a shinobi monitoring the proceedings, he knew not how open his son would be to such a construct.

The air was stuffed by the scent of a frog sitting in the open sun far too long toasting herself in the rays near the water. Naru knew it well enough, and welcomed it as a comfort rather then an odor, of course, it had been several years since he had last breathed upon it; thus it took him quite a few moments to himself before he could take in the atmosphere with ease.

But of course, he kept himself outside in caution. Observing those who passed by him with a careful practised eye, already knowing they were watching him too, but their stares were of suspicion for motive, while his own was observance in monitoring. It was a marginal curiosity if they could look upon him and find a telling of his history, as any pracised shinobi of talent would. As it stood, he already had, without taking a glimpse of his own manner, Naru knew where he resonated of the past, but pondered if it were an obvious telling onto those of a differing origin such as the Village of Rain.

As he watched the building return to itself once more, he contemplated absently: if Jiraiya resented his father for his betrayal. Along that same ponderance, he wondered: if he himself could hate his husband for his actions. A gentle smile cast itself upon him in a faint whisper of melancholy, as he considered, the truth. It was plain fact, he had always known what his husband was destined upon, done nothing, and hadn’t cared as their time together grew. Yet, he had still married the man with fever, kissed him in passion, and had a child without preamble. The truth lay, that he’d not looked upon in care, at any point, regardless of his previous knowledge sitting upon him the entire time.

Waiting was something which he had never taken too well. Not whence awaiting his pregnancies to finish, nor his wedding to come, not awaiting returning home when he thought he would upon first arriving within the oldened Konoha. As it were, patience while sitting for Jiraiya to finish his questioning burned upon him in more resonance. He began to pace, his chest had begun to sting in concern, as it were, he was already taken by maternal instinct, and wished for Madara to appear beside him, perhaps Naori even.

It was then that he realized that his clone had been dispersed and the feeling shocked itself into him in understanding. Quickly, he looked about him in order to find a hint of his son making an exit from the water. The worry he held became possessed under a stronger nature at that moment, he knew that risk had mounted more-so as time continued to pass. An ancient Uchiha technique came unto his mind, however, it was unlikely to function within such a time, perhaps even not on Jiraiya whom did not carry his clan name or indeed those of his own parents.

Nonetheless, he began as subtly as he might within a crowd; the jutsu that would allow him to trace his family as designed by his clan. Especially perfect for any child harbouring his own relation, and Jiraiya in particular as his personality was that of his mother to near-exact accuracy, while with the exception of his skin tanned under the sun, he had almost precisely his father’s appearance. However, he had noticed that the man would develop Madara’s serious nature should the situation require a firm or steady hand, indeed, Naruto wondered how he hadn’t seen Jiraiya’s similarity to his father much previous to now. In response to his own protective worry, Naruto could only take to the feverant praying that the so-called ‘wise’ sanin would do nothing pertaining to his mother’s persona or indeed his godmother’s.

The trace found him betwixt the crevice of two buildings, which became his immediate destination. There were many things he was unprepared for, should he witness his son anything other then alive Naru knew he would not be able to survive such a circumstance. As it stood before him in clear comprehension, he had already lost his husband in more way then simply one, all the friendships he had developed about the village he had known; now he was placed once more as Uzumaki Naruto despised within his own village. It was a place he had never thought he’d deal with again. The blessing he held was the son he had only just found to be alive.

There came a cracking sound before him though, large and encompassing, the bursting of metal. Mud-jump, it did so directly in front of his vision, while a man of considerable size appeared from the gap. Orange hair, and many piercings coving his face which Naruto found quite unappealing.

Concerning him, however, to the point wherein no slyful remark came from his lips, the rinnegan sat proudly within his eyes. It was one among few rare dojutsu that Madara had mentioned in occurrences so infrequent Naru could recall only three in total. The Patriarch had only a glimmer of interest in his own bloodline, and upon unique circumstance, he would praise the Senju, perhaps the bakugan should find it intriguing. To see it before him, a piece of history older then himself, to look upon it as such he found strange. Being as it was not possessing the same ability as a Sharingan, his eyes pierced the pupil immediately before casting away to his neck and shoulders as a point of movement monitoring.

From his own observance, the man was a hefty one with large muscles and likely a keen ability to bash his opponent. It was then that Naru chose to fight him without a direct confrontation, while his taijutsu could be significantly well managed, to use it in combat against a man with concerning physical mass would be a dangerous game to attempt. Thus, he prepared himself for a battle of ninjutsu, in a willful mindset that it would be quickly paced so that he may reach Jiraiya with minimal hassle. Beginning firstly by withdrawing his fans, and casting a tormental burst of air from them -in a keen reminder upon himself of Temari. Working well enough to destabilize him enough to near throw him off the metal beam he stood upon. Which was why, in a desperate bid to ignore his own morality, he cut as quickly as he may to kill the man.

However, as he did so, the man raised his arm, a barrier appearing to surround him. Wherein, while he knew his attack would have properly reached him, it did not, and thus disappeared in a manner Naru had yet to see in previous experience. Even while having faced the Kiniki clan, it was an oddity he was not familiar with. Staring unto it, nothing of his knowledge came to mind, nothing Madara had spoken of in revarance, or Hashirama had warned of in memory, Tobirama had said nothing of it in jealousy. It was strange to witness, and recognize so little.

The rinnegan would have to be the parent jutsu of such a technique he fathomed.

He backed from the battle slightly, were he to find knowledge as to the jutsu so oddly used, it would require his jumping forward head first into the fight with a rasengan.

As such, he prepped the attack as best he may within limited time. Though, he acknowledged he needed not much for the sphere as it was not intent to hit.

He neither expected it to miss entirely by means of absorption. Which is whence he decided to switch unto using his fans as near kunai, beginning by launching senbon from the tips at first chance. The risk still ledged upon him grossly, however it was dismissed by his own large understanding of close combat from past experience.

Carefully, he avoided any ninjutsu, as opposition to his own tactic mere moments ago. Attempting to maintain himself under the necessary regularity of the taijutsu he had learnt of his fans, and producing only clones to aid rather then any jutsu he may wish for. The situation granted him favour, as the man appeared reluctant to do anything other then absorbing chakra. It was despite himself that he directed the fans to a cutting motion through the individual’s flesh.

As it were, he had already found killing a stain upon his soul, the Hatake had been a sin unto him ripping into his soul within the most hurtful way. Screaming into him as memories, wishing in desperation that Madara and Jiraiya had found out nothing from that day.

The man fell.

The Uchiha watched very closely as he did.

Then sprinted forward to the destination he knew his son to be in.

* * *

He stood.

Very still.

Very uncertain.

Disbelieving that reality was where he remained.

Jiraiya was before him, standing still just as he so did.

Whitened hair was stuck backward stained in blood he knew to be real.

Gaping eyes were looking within him.

Screaming, he was screaming he was certain. Shrieking.

His own eyes were burning, his irises had changed, his pupils were linear.

Madara was gone.

His husband could not burn him to death.

He had managed to rip it away, to shake before the sight to stare in uncertainty, to look closely in apprehension.

_His fist had punched through Jiraiya’s chest._

His son fell to knees of incomprehension, black eyes he knew looked inside him as he became short. Naruto was still screaming as his child collapsed face first.

Minutes he stared, bleak, kyuubi steered.

**….** **_In watching however, he noticed. Minimally, marginally, his hair was moving with his back; Jiraiya was breathing._ **


	11. I Will Make You Hurt

By appearance nothing pertained to an interesting appeal upon him, gazing upon her in apprehension and knowledge no unique quality ordained her in vision. She stood before him as a woman, with stoic disposition, while her emotions were presented before him in bleak stoicism much as his own. Near him stood Hashirama, containing within his arms a toddler quite unaware of his present circumstance or of much as it were, while Jiraiya was presently holding his father’s hand in complete ignorance of what was to happen. Or indeed, who the woman before them was to be, by the flickering of his gaze he could take notice of the Senju beside him and stare upon him with the worst, most sympathetic and pitiful expression Madara could fathom. While balanced on his hip the young Tsunade focused on her mother’s hair, within his own depression the Patriarch forced a type of pleasant simper towards the woman, it was all that he could manage.

She was Maika, an Omega born of the Sarutobi clan, a beautiful woman by all common standards with spiking long blackened hair much as his own and sharp thin midnight eyes. Appearing much as an Uchiha with the pale skin matching most that of his clan. “Uchiha-sama, I have been selected to be your new wife. I would like to present my greatest sympathies for the death of your bride. I did briefly meet him during the negotiations he made betwixt our clans. He appeared quite the generous character.” Priour to any response he could make, they were instead accompanied by Mito who announced herself by a mere bow in apology for her tardy arrival. Madara hardly withheld himself from rolling his eyes, the woman did well in maintaining a sweetened demeanour when surrounded by other people, that is especially including Hashirama.

_It had been a sudden necessity this morning he had not anticipated, while within the confines of his home; while absent of company and during Jiraiya’s visit to his Godfather. Madara had been sat within the dining room, accompanied by a cup of tea he had made without thought, it was among this time period that Naru had come to mind, by nothing of his own provocation. He hadn’t even been in consideration of his bride, there had been no manner for his memory to have come forth. Alas it had, and the Uchiha had thought in a vague, very diminished amusement, how unusual it was for there to be a widower inside his clan rather then a widow: enemies rarely aimed for the Omegas of the clan, though the Matriarch remained a rather more common target then others._

_By his thoughts, under the absence of his son, he got up, grasped the handle of the kunai he had nearby for precaution: and cut a clean slice upon his arm. The thrill of the feeling did little to shock him; it was, after all, to see if he could still feel. The sensation was a welcome and so common one. In looking upon the bleed, he focused on the pain; for as it were -at the moment- it remained the only thing that was real. The kunai tore a hole, a cut, the old familiar sting he could recognize from war._

_In looking about him his eyelids collapsed upon themselves and the floor became his only vision. For beside him stood brightened blonde hair, near darkened skin, and eyes paying tribute to the skies, the smile he bore softened by a glowing gladness from upcoming motherhood, his hands rested over his abdomen._

_He glanced once more to the bleed he now held, and his thoughts maintained the cruel thought over him; that in attempting to kill it all away, he had remembered everything. As it stood, Naru’s fading image remained all around him in the agonizing remembrance he had no want for. Further, worsened inside him he felt the creeping hatred he hadn’t held for many a year, but it was such that he could recognize it without an issue, however, it was within him now as a more intense feeling the impending thoughts of murderous considerations had begun to linger within his mind. His hands bore his weight upon the counter in front of him, as his hair before his eyes; in pained thought. The outline of Naru beside him in dissipating memory._

_“What…” His arms collapsed and his torso fell over the counter, his head remained rested over his weak forearms. A weak, hardly audible sobbing sounded. “Have I become… My sweet love?... It seems… that everyone I know goes away in the end.” The sound so increased. To himself he whispered to the image surrounding him; “you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I know I have let you down.. I let you-” he could not say the proper word, even in whisper, “...hurt.” The pain, not from the cut he now had, but the knowledge he still maintained of his failure bore upon him as a weight over his lungs, and his sobs turned into hysteria._ **_“Naru…”_ **

The melody of himself cleared, alas no one had questioned his absence therein he imagined it to have been no time gone. However, he took in the image of the woman who was to be his new wife, and wondered why he allowed himself to still hold onto the crown of thorns he still held over the Uchiha as Patriarch. While he sat within a chair of lies; as they all, all his family, were vindictive of his innocence in his bride’s death. Yet he, himself, was full of broken thoughts of the murder, those that he could not repair. The stains of time made it worse, the feels of remorse seemed to disappear, while anger from within its long confine to come and replace it all.

* * *

_“Shut up! You know nothing about me!” It came as a vague sound, a slight whimper that he could barely maintain, strange for the enclosing feeling of anger he held. But, there was no action he could take, he could punch the smug expressions they portrayed, but by the simple wisdom of his long gone father he decided he would attack none but an enemy and despite their chosen behaviour of malice, the other children of Konoha were allies not those he could put harm upon. Instead he ran away from the area, his irritation was plain in his clenching jaw. Upon him, tears had begun to form, regardless of the want he had, he could not stop them from flowing, even by the embarrassment crept over him as he spotted the young figure of Tsuande walking with Tobirama, her hand being held as she spoke with her Uncle while in a joyful express. Her gaze drew to him however, something of a smile cresting over her visage, while he watched the Hokage keep the stoicism he so expected._

_“Jiraiya-chan, shouldn’t you be with your Godfather?” The wording had the tonnage of disapproval, further, suspicion. As was commonplace with the second Hokage, for that as partial reasoning he quite missed his Godmother. As it were, Tsuande hardly even remembered her own mother; it had even become a necessity that she be known as his Granddaughter instead, for the sake of her own protection -Jiraiya thought it to be a ridiculous rule, despite it being much as his own, had yet to even be fully implemented._

_“I was on a walk.” He had, but had been crudely interrupted by a group of children who still had yet to learn how to keep their mouths closed under orders. The man before him sighed, as his niece looked up to him in curiosity, he said nothing however._

_“Very well. Go home please.” Those were his only words, however, the sweetened young girl beside him chose to turn to her slightly older comrade._

_“Why you crying Jiraiya-kun?” He met her gaze without any feeling of his own._

_“Some children were making fun of my Dad.”_

_Her head tilted “...Tou-san? I don’t believe I have ever met him.”_

_“He’s dead.” And that was all that became of the conversation. It weren’t as if he were allowed to speak his father’s name; or him at all as it were. Jiraiya had to force himself to hold in a particular silence from any information of his parents or family. As it stood in present, Tsunade was yet too young to understand the implications pertaining unto his heritage, she was only four and hardly past her toddler age. The -now- white haired boy knew well by his limited experience that those of the village whom knew of his heritage would say nothing in reference of his father; lest it be his clan who always found a means of defence for his criminalized actions upon the shodai, or the small children who had heard of his parentage and knew not how to hold their tongues. The Hokage had taken action for it shortly after his brother’s delayed death from the ‘battle of the end,’ portraying the Uchiha clan as untrustworthy for their continued loyalty to their traitorous former Patriarch. Yet, making certain under the finite request of Hashirama that Jiraiya would remain unknown as Madara’s son unto the newly formed village._

_“Tobirama-san, should you not be in your office?” It was before Tsunade could make a response, that the new Patriarch of the clan placed herself within the conversation. Within her voice, echoing from her throat came a deepened anger she could not formally express while in the view of so many surrounding persons, some watching even being civilians who would comprehend nothing of their animosity._

_“I do not believe that is yours to know Naori-san.” Much as his own family continually portrayed he said as much with a firm stoicism that Jiraiya well recognized. Alas, she vocalized none of her ire towards the man, rather grasped upon her Godson’s lax arm and gesturing only minimally towards the compound their district had become._

_He did, and she sighed loudly beside him in her slowed pace. “Jiraiya-chan, why do you feel in the mood for a visit unto the shine?” While she inquired, they passed a young, much older man, one of the Nidamie’s students from the Sarutobi clan, Jiraiya could familiarize his face from the few times he had seen the man in the Hokage’s office while his father had still been a member of the village._

_An embittered part of himself disliked the man as simply being a member of the Sarutobi clan._

The memory came over him in strange, distorted pieces. However, he did take notice that the images had come at all, his sharingan-embedded eyes flickering about his surroundings, of course with the pupils being the quickest to adapt to light and circumstance in tandem with the advanced irises; Jiraiya near never had fogged over vision. That being the reasoning for him spotting his second golden-haired student by his side tending to a hole largely indenting his chest. More peculiar in addition that Jiraiya was close to certain that Naruto hadn’t known any medical ninjutsu priour to his disappearance. The hidden clansmen had particular sight for the manner in which his formerly immature apprentice had begun to integrate a small portion of noticeably red chakra into his wound.

Beneath the rapid movements he forced to keep underneath his skin for the sake of his healing, Jiraiya could also take notice of the jinchuuriki concealing the mumbling gibberish from the fast actions of his moving lips. In closely watching the curious behaviour from the Uzumaki, the sannin took apprehensive comprehension of the hardly legible whisper made which sounded -to the Uchiha male, as if Naruto spoke: “...Mada…. Son... Alive.” 


	12. So It Happens

Largely the panic had subsided to give way unto a deepened feeling of relief, this was as Naruto stared down upon the widely watching eyes of his son. Perhaps shown upon his visage remained the tranquiled happiness, tears which he could not conceal. Still by his own merit, he wiped them quickly through both a pride he daren’t show and a need to keep his identity unknown, by the selfish desires he kept well hidden, he wished to look upon his child and declare himself; alas the harm portrayed within such an action would be extensive, and he knew such a truth well. Yet, he found regardless of his own knowledge his tears still fell down over the broken chest of his son, as if displaying unto him the needless nature of his secrets. At least before the visage of his only remaining family laying broken afore him.

Within, something yearning spoke in question: what would Madara do if faced with such indecision? Would his husband bend down to their son, glare with an Uchiha forged scowl, then look upon him with their matching irises and speak the simple truth? Or would he cast one of his own rare gentle smiles and make a reprimand? The poor matriarch could decide nothing while caught inside his homupowa’s -perfectly matched, exacting gaze. Odd unto him as the recurring memory played upon him within, his husband afore him staring downwards disapproval clearly cast, regardless that it was Jiraiya blinking upwards at him. Though his chest was not completely healed, the man sat forward. By instinct, Naruto attempted to put him back to rest, this was not well met as Jiraiya pushed his hands away and ignored the worried gaze the unknown Uchiha omega could not contain. But an anger came frothing forth next. 

Naruto’s expression morphed glare forming as -accidentally- taught, a scowl near appearing. “Would you simply rest!” Fear drew out his response. He was met in tandem, a replica of his husband’s paralyzing vision striking him, from his son. However, as it is well known, a mother can hardly ever be beaten by their son. 

And unto his own surprise the sannin found himself yelding upon the angry disapproval he met within Naruto’s gaze. Hesitantly he shifted his posturing to that of a more relaxed man, uncertain by the appearance his pupil made before him, to Jiraiya; dauntingly familiar, yet inappropriate for the boy he knew. 

Naruto eased at the calming response his son made by him, alas, his worry still remained. As the Uchiha hier was appropriately healed. Yet, the matriarch was uncertain in how to properly explain away his newfound healing prowess, or indeed why he was within the Village of the Hidden Rain. By all standard, he should be within the Village under Ino’s careful guard, and waiting for the results of Sakura’s team search. His son was no fool. Naruto knew this well enough -he certainly had his father’s intelligence- Jiraiya would -and should, be entirely aware of his trappings to Konoha. 

Upon him his mind seemed to be making him only experience the pain of understanding; for, afore him sat his son, grown, with whitened hair of strain, having experienced so many hardships which he -Naru- had no knowledge of. Staring upon him, seeing the memories of his husband in the glare he was receiving, in the midnight colour of his eyes, in the ridiculous length of his spiked hair, in his unruly height matching well his father in stature. Naruto perceived the vision of his son at birth, the baby he had held, and the crying Madara had done at the sight of his child, the complete joy he had felt at that moment -far more then any he had while within this time.

It was upon therein that his emotions overwhelmed the logic he had forced himself to maintain. A burn conjured itself within, the ache of missing everyone he had known, the friends he had made under complete truth, the love he had felt and held in a time not his own came upon him in a near desperation. The memory remaining as an almost bitter one. Tears, cascaded over as he attempted to soothe himself without success, sobs began to shake his entire body as everything began to weigh upon him. Great gasps of air he took, doing nothing as the image of his small child smiled before him so alikened that of his homupowa, Hashirama laughing, Tobirama blushing as he presented a flower to him in an act of kindness after the wedding. He came to hyperventilation as he saw not reality, but the memories he wished to be within once more; and in knowing them all to be an illusion, he burned inside. 

“Naruto!” Jiraiya near screamed at him, now kneeling before the collapsed visage of his secret mother. Naruto felt his shoulders grasped by strengthened hands, and he looked in front of him. With blurred vision, he saw Madara’s image slowly morphing into that of his elder son. 

“Jiraiya?” He hiccuped, then jumped forward, something overtaking him as he held onto the grown image of his child. Happiness, joy, replacing all he had previously been encompassed by. He was hugged back, carefully, warming him in comfort, and chilling him through chakra, familiar and lovely to a mind in torment. The Uchiha Omega then surpassed his indecision, and he chose with a slight tightening grasp of Jiraiya’s figure. “A Chrysanthemum… a red chrysanthemum.” 

The grip loosened over him, and reluctantly, so did his own, now facing the frowning expression over the true heir of the Uchiha, with his own eyes downcast. “They are… were your father’s representing flower meaning: an eternal love. Your Mother had sunflowers assigned upon him, meaning: adortion, loyalty and longevity. Yours is… is a white Carnation representative of pure love and luck..” It entrapped him, the fear he so felt in revealing himself, despite his own ashurity that he could no longer hide wilfully; the agony of knowing would empressure him into death, he was sure. Scared, blue eyes looked upward, meeting the widened black irises of Jiraiya: his hands shaking, his mouth muttering incomprehensible nothings.

“How do you?...” The former Uzumaki found himself smiling, a careful simper, wary by the manner he must take. 

A deep breath, “you have his eyes, and height… Hair too… But, I see well, you act nothing like.. like... Mada..” Tears came once more. “You… Jiraiya, you act as I, humour, as my own, and persona…” Tears again came forward, but the smallest of smiles remained.

“Thats… Impossible!” The apprehension transferred from one Uchiha to another as Jiraiya slowly backed himself away from the crying Omega before him. Naru, pult his fingers to his chin in a deepened thought, considering possible facts that only one whom knew Jiraiya before Madara’s betrayal would know. Eyes glinting as an understanding bore down upon him. 

“As you well know; Hashirama was not Tsunade’s Grandfather, he stands as her Mother, just as he also stood as your Godmother. Jiraiya, please, I know the difficulty you face, but I am indeed Uchiha Naru-” He breathed deeply once more, no preparation could have him ready for such a moment. 

“-Okaa-san…” Tears came once more, yet, these poured from the eyes of an alpha Uchiha. Naru grinned wide, hesitantly he opened his arms wide for his son: who fell, weakened, into his embrace. Great sobs took them both. Naruto buried his face into the wettened hair of his child, as his son did much the same with his mother’s orange clad chest, large arms overtaking the slight torso of the parent he hadn’t truly seen since death. 

* * *

_ Simplistic, remained the wording Madara chose for the ceremony he so wished not, it stayed a quite public affair for the understanding of the clan and those whom needed witness. However, the patriarch could cast a glance over the attendance of his family and see merely stoicism and blackened black wardrobes, hands only containing two blossoms: a striped yellow Carnation meaning clearly; refusal and disdain for the entire wedding. While also carrying a Heliotrope in representation of devotion and faithful belief. The touch it made upon his heart, had him bowing before his people as the wedding so ended, despite the clear disdain they were displaying for his new wife.  _

_ In rising from his bow, his eyes naturally came to rest upon Jiraiya who stood next to his Godmother at the front most position, and the strong head warrior of the Uchiha found himself nearly made to cry before his clan by the fierce glare he was met with by small eyes that usually reflected their mother’s joy and kindness. Piercing through any happiness he had been dealt by faithful flowers he had been granted by his family. A consuming loathing of self-detestment came upon Madara; a frown forged on his lips, as his eyes hardened into a stoic stare cast unto no one. With shame impeding his mind, he chose to say nothing to his son knowing well of his own betrayal unto his child. Madara wished avidly to be a regular, most average, Uchiha, one who followed along to orders as opposed to casting them, one who was not ruled over by the pressuring grasp of diplomatic strain; underneath such a life, it remained highly plausible that his hanayome would be alive.  _

_ As common, all gathered went to speak to each other, though it was his own ceremony, he decided instead to talk only to Hashirama. He did take notice that his wife seemed to be acquainted with Mito, they appeared to be talking to one another with large grins and a laughter he could well recognize from how Naru used to speak with the long past Kou. Their giggles rang across the field, Madara did also take notice of the several members of his clan casting suspicious glances in their direction.  _


	13. Chapter 13: Hidden Snapping

_Madara found himself the next day striding fastly away from his own home, strain a participant unto his reasoning but hardly the true cause. By memory having taken hold he could not look upon his newly made wife lain in sheets where his bride had previously awoken him with sunflower smiles. His cowardice brought him to the Hokage, his friendship therein had aided his amelioration unto the situation -not his recovery. His footsteps were crunching the pebbles beneath, and he stared at the image it made and sighed, pinching his nose in a thought he couldn't quite grasp; yet he knew it involved a glowing smile with sapphire and aquamarine irises sparkling in his direction accompanied by the sun's radiance._

_"Madara?" His mind snapped forward, finding Hashirama afore him with questioning painted across his face. A gentle smile cresting over him in concern. It faltered however, as his lips thinned and Madara could not recognize the emotion he witnessed coming over his friend; an appearance of disconcertment first and foremost, shock, fear, these things were that which he had never before been made to witness upon his friend. For they were all emotions which belonged only to a child, as they both had been taught. Thus, it both came as a surprise and confusion unto the Uchiha. "You're crying."_

_Touching at his face only brought proof to the statement. Despite his own mental discountment of the words, Madara could admit he had no want to acknowledge the truth of his circumstances. "My friend, you do know that its quite normal to-"_

_"I have no time to afford unto such weakness Hashirama, there is much which I cannot cast off unto another-"_

_"Madara! There is no weakness in admitting to emotion! To crying. You Alpha's all think its a show of sparse strength, its ridiculous!" The man afore him breathed deeply then, shaking in the peach lace he wore, his double braids doing much the same while his eyes wavered in impassioned uncertainty. "Naruto would agree with me." The statement did nothing to placate him, the opposite._

_"Just- don't." Nothing came forth then, his head failed to work under the abrupt angered fear he suddenly held. His voice managed a quiet disposition, alas, his teeth grit to yell._

_Again, the Senju took a deep -placating, breath, walking forward. "You still come home and expect to see Naru, do you not?" Silence came over both of them as a stagnant force. "It…" Hashirama scoffed to himself a slighted, bitter, smile resting over his visage as he spoke, "it is not the same, but I do love you Madara, I am here to help. And should it aid at all; I loved Naru very much, he was a good, even best friend to me." Warm hands then came onto his chest and bejeweled brown moonstone gazed up to him: A detriment as Madara knew well, he was highly attracted to Hashirama, and the guilt he had conjured for having been in need of physical attentions lately settled upon him once more as his fellow founder took to glimmering his near sensual irises into his own. Comforting chakra infiltrating his own, not near as hot as his Naru's, yet still a fulfilling warmth far better then that of his new wife. "I know I can hardly do much to comfort you, yet please, do tell me that which I can?" Desire krept upon him then, lude and unprompted. Quite carefully, he grasped the cream brown wrists and pushed the man away._

_"I do not think there would be an act or word which would sooth my turmoil my friend. Lest you bring my bride back into my embrace my emote remains stale." Though despite his expectation, the Uchiha was met with a simper, and gentle hands taking his own into their tender hold. Calloused -in comparison to Naru's near smoothened palms, which spoke of little battle he'd faced; Hashirama's gave the opposing impression, as to be expected. Still, Madara found himself comforted by the rough feeling just as he had been by the tender grasp of his hanayome at night._

_Then, he was lead away by the firm grip of his oldest friend, out of the village. Though a protest rested upon his tongue in hesitation he forced himself to say nothing. As it were the Amataratsu had chosen to set herself to rest and the shining colours of dusk had placed themselves onto Hashirama in a light that Madara found himself admiring the pure, untainted, beauty of. Mocha and sunlight fit well together, he supposed._

_They came to the river, displaying itself as it always had, and he stared at the simple flow of the water. A rock put into his hand by a man who enjoyed playing a child._

_By familiarity, they skipped rocks, failing and succeeding in near succession._

_However, as twilight came forth, a shift drifted onto both of them. As they began to come together in a fragile, careful, dance which neither had expected. Breaking tradition's grasp, the brunette Omega had found himself slowly leading the cautious moves while Madara nervously clutched upon his partner, plagued with pained reminders of his embrightened bride's warm laughter at his dancing ability mere years past -he recalled being embarrassed at the exchange, yet determined to court the bright Omega.- Now, he was more concerned with the desire he felt rising with Hashirama, the proximity was soothing, comforting, and it reminded him well of Naru's hold in the long hours whence sleep hadn't grasped either of them. It was so careful, slow, as Madara pult the tall man closer to him in an embrace, it was warm he found. Yet, it hurt, the pain strongly clutched at his heart then, and his eyes thus responded. He saw a golden hue around him then, his friend's hair became his hanayome. The imagery of the calm river and shore was blurred unto his vision, while the grasp he felt around him tightened marginally. Madara hadn't listened to the sound of the flowing water before, but he did so now in figained ignorance of his own obvious sobbing._

_The village was near sparse when they returned, save for the hidden guards, and a glow of whitened hair shone over their sights with reddened eyes. Madara had chosen civility and had escorted his friend back home under Uchiha pretext, though his mind had spun with the implications their evening had already broadcast. The stars cast upon them a austere light, and the vindictive Uchiha came to wondering what Tobirama could possibly come to think of their outing._

_"Tobirama? What brings you to waiting for me?" The wording sounded impatient unto his ears, quite uncommon for the brothers who typically got along._

_"I heard rumour of you both going outwards of the village to be intimate, I was...concerned." Madara near growled at the implication, he felt the guttural urge rise from his chest, quite prepared to physically display his agreement to the little assistant's assessment of the situation. A snarl expressed his ire instead, in the meanwhile Hashirama had appeared enraged and flustered in embarrassment._

_"That would be none of your concern regardless! However, for your information we were merely relaxing ourselves by the river as we used too!"The yell so produced had the damning effect of shaking the minimalistic barriers about them, in addition to destabilizing Tobirama's balance in its power. Before the matter could be promptly escalated, the patriarch decided to add himself into the developing fray._

_"One would think you to have an intelligence in consideration of your positioning Tobirama." A glare rested over him then._

_"My intelligence? One should make question of your departed bride for having wedded you."The statement had hardly finished before:_

_Hashirama took first action outcrying far louder then Madara had ever heard."TOBIRAMA!"_

_And upon Madara, it was a rather automatic reaction as Madara felt the flush arise in his mind at the insult so callously made. In previous, he had never acted upon an Alpha instinct, as taught it only brought an endangerment unto oneself and others, alas as his mentality drove him; it could not matter what, but Madara knew the world to be in full clearity around him, as his Mangekyo spun, he also knew himself to be growling at the man afore him. While it felt justified, he knew it could not be as the Hokage was attempting to calm him. He did not take notice of the head he had slammed into the ground._

_By strength alone, the Hokage did manage to pry the Uchiha from his brother, in a struggle which put upon the Omega a bloodied nose and lip along with two broken fingers._

_Tobirama propped himself up, a rare expression curving his visage even while his hair remained heavily stained with fresh blood and his eyes were slightly fogged from disorientation. "You had no right to him, unlike your failure, I could have protected him." Malice fragmented the normally ireful express the albino commonly maintained. While the Uchiha still struggled within the elder Senju's grasp, snarling under Alpha instinct._

_Hashirama gave a sympathetic look unto his brother, though his voice remained scornful. "I did not know you were in love with Naru Tobi."_

_"It matters not, nor did it while he was among us, I know well enough; he adored Madara."_

_Madara heard nothing from the youngest Senju, a burning heat had continued crossing underneath his eyes, fire uprooted itself and a vicious underbelly revealed itself from cultivation a roughened reality Madara had never held prior to his hanayome's murder. Displaying an aid cultivated from and alpha's instinct he pulled himself free of his friend's mighty grasp. Fury surged as a tidal wave might over a bolder, yet the Patriarch walked from the conversation. However within him came a pitiful voice, that of his own bride, which he knew so well: **"I don't understand, why re-marry? Had he stopped loving me?"** Beneath the words, a maliceful laugh echoing as music under lyrics of sorrow. Quiet, but legible followed the sentence **"Was it, Hashi?...Oh. I thought he may have-"**_

_It cut away swiftly as it came, and Madara wondered at the clarity of his sanity._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Please note that the fic: "Crimson Era" is not a sequel or prequel of "Era's" or "Mourning" It is an alternate version, its actually how I intended to write "Eras" wherein Naruto was born in the Era Of Warring States.


	14. Reunion, While She Begins

_ He felt the subtle surge of her warmed chakra approach, heard the grazing on the rocks from the kimono she wore. In a brutal attempt of will, he forced a glare to not form as he glanced her direction. A slight surprise twitched his shoulder as he noticed her hair down instead of neatly posed above her neck. The crimson tone over ivory reminding him of a fallen warrior, her stoicism impressive as she managed an unfazed glare down upon him. He said nothing as she walked forward, to the exact position wherein she stood daunt above him. Then, she made a great sigh. _

_ Madara watched carefully as a smirk briefly crossed her visage before she turnt to look at the flow of the water. Chakra built in his hands as a familiar feeling crept upon him, distinctive as he recalled that of an enemy about to move forth in assault. Caution came over him then a sensation he had not felt lingering while around Mito. His left hand gripped slowly his scythe beside, irises already beginning to burn in preparation.  _

_ However, her delicate hand rested upon his shoulder instead, no sting or wisp of chakra stang at his nerves and the tension he had been building loosened minorly, still wary of her intent. A muscle gave a slight twitch within his shoulder in reflex. Mito looked upon him then in opposition to the river which had captured her interest, though Madara was near certain the woman had come to find him, not to simply walk along the shore. “Madara-sama, I apologize for my previous behaviour… I, myself, am greatly saddened by Naru’s death. Though, I must mention I had noticed in previous, Naru..-sama had a… most peculiar chakra orientating from his abdomen.” A heaving sigh came from the woman, her fingers twitched and she wore the expression of reluctance. Madara turned his gaze away from examining her peculiars, instead looking to the water and tracking the stone he skipped. Awaiting a prodding inquiry from the head Omega; one which he knew, he would not answer. “Do you know anything of it?”  _

_ He stood, uncaring of her hand falling away. Baring over her with his height, and near sneering down upon her entire visage as his hatred for the woman for once shone plainly for all to see. It was happenstance that the river was so far removed from civilization, a luck upon Madara’s own repertoire, as she still bore higher position then he -to disgrace her would only burden his clan with a worse reputation. “I know nothing which is yours to learn Uzumaki-san” He emphasised the honorific, embers of anger had ignited under the span of the sentence, and a frigid cold had taken the air surrounding. “In addition, you have taken to dishonouring my bride several times, in both action and conversation; I highly doubt you to be a candid woman, least of all mournful of my hanayome’s death. Actions betray you Mito... Curious is it not?: That you and Maiko happen to be acquainted in spite of your clan history, curious, that Miko-san decided to abandon the village, so soon before Hashirama mentioned an Omega of high standing within the Sarutobi who might lend assistance unto my situation.” As he spoke, ire awakened his sharingan, baritone deepening under command of the anger slowly seeping through his voice.  _

_ Mito positioned her eyes to the direction of his wrist, staring upon it, the pale and pinkened cuts there with a burnt knowledge ingrained in her irises. Then, in odd form; sympathy, concern, came to dress her expression, a simper on her lips. “I do not think you know yourself Madara-sama. Are you of stable mind? Is Jiraiya-chan safe?” Madara backed, the form of their conversation twisting him. “You have self-inflicted wounds upon your wrist Madara-sama, it is well known that a man of self-harm cannot be of stable mind.” He then understood her method, and his anger returned then at the dishonorable tactic she had chosen. “Do not worry Uchiha-sama, I will make certain to inform Hashirama-sama of my concern for your mentality.” As she finished her sentence, he had a momentary, quite private panic within himself at the knowledge of what that may cause. Should Hashirama take action in concern for his health: His clan would worry for ability and likely proclaim Jiraiya as the official Patriarch, while having Naori run the family in his stead. His place as founder would be dishonoured as Tobirama made certain of his discredit to the village. But most certainly, Madara knew; Jiraiya would be taken from him in caution.  _

* * *

Naruto had known from an early age, as the understanding had come with a detestment of learning and the following years at the academy, he knew before even having read them; he hated textbooks. A position he maintained throughout all portions of his wayward life. While team seven had been whole, when it broke, when he’d become a traveller of the world, when he’d become a traveller of time and met the love of his life. Although, when he became a mother, he somewhat came to understand their use. His husband had aided in that, being as the man was one of education who harboured an experienced knowledge of the world; Madara had attempted avidly to teach his bride all the random facts he knew. Such as gathering herbs, hunting, building and repairing, how to identify clans by appearance. All information Naruto knew he wouldn’t have cared for if learnt within the academy walls. However, the Uchiha did acknowledge that his homupowa had a special method of teaching, and were it not for the afterward nightly taijutsu he was taught upon a worn futon, he may never have paid a close heed. 

Now, he was subjecting himself to the torment of learning through written information, somewhat in respect for his husband, but in another; searching for any scrapping of understanding as to how he may return himself to the village had come to love and that loved him, rather then the one where he remained hated. 

Despite having found Jiraiya, he wished to see the boy grow, he held a hope for that to still happen for him. 

The history textbook gave him a profound ire; for it was completely wrong. This was one which reviewed the time of the first Hokage, and it was the only period which Naruto knew well enough to declare as wrong: It stated several things, the first being that Hashirama had forged the idea of a settlement when he was a seasoned shinobi leading the Senju, and had chosen the Uchiha as partners for they would hold the most sway. The second being that Madara had no hanayome or children, which nearly had said matriarch punch through the table which he read; for Uchiha Patriarch’s cannot simply die without an heir, the entire clan was dependant on the Patriarchal family, it also might have provoked him slightly that he had been said Matriarch and had quite proudly held the position. 

Though that train of thought did remind him starkly that he should check on his son. The man was well enough to walk about, but not do anything tedious, and under the knowledge of whom exactly both his parents were Naru held the suspicion that Jiraiya was not exactly resting. It had been under heavy protest which he had brought the man back to Konoha, as it were -but after having received a hole to his chest, there was simply no manner in which Naruto was going to allow his only child to remain in the village of the enemy, let alone fight.

However, his lids were already dropping from the many hours he had spent in reclusive study, in worry for his son’s wellbeing -even while he knew Tsunade’s capability in medicine. He was quite exhausted, and the subtle humming from his futon had called him for a few movements of the shadows. While he regretted so much as saying it unto himself, he could acknowledge that this Hokage was a brilliant medic-nin, and that his son was a grown man capable of taking care of himself; Naru knew he did not need to check on him all the time to make certain he was sleeping proper. 

So, he forced himself to bed.

* * *

He awoke on the cliffside, next to where the heads were -apparently- no longer carved. Hope sprung into his chest at that sudden realization. He looked around with a slightly fogged vision, the rock appeared as normal, but the trees around him were blossoming with pink sakura flowers. The scent drifting into his nose as he rose, a hyper panic beset within his mind and body. Naruto knew the vision he saw as that of the past, as that of the time where he had lived. 

“N-Naru?...” He turned. 

Before him came the most beautiful vision. The sight he thought he would not see again. He was different, as to be expected, his hair struck out in many and all directions darkened to the tones of the midnight sky. His skin was still a near stark contrast unto his own with the pale reflection marble remained jealous of. Two heads taller then his own minimal size, with muscles almost sprung from the summer yakata he wore. Naruto noticed more avidly that his ashen eyes were underlined far heavier then they had been previously with stress lines. 

They gazed at one another. 

“Madara…” Naruto heard his own voice break in relief and joy. 


	15. Chapter 15: Fake Reunion

Silence came to follow, though neither of them could mark it, the experience came in relief, both of them standing in a fixated stare upon each other. Madara stood with a clearly visualized shock, while Naruto felt his own eyes beginning to tear at the sight he had been granted. Neither of them could with-hold themselves from the temptation, sprung into the other’s embrace at the sight, holding, indeed clinging, onto their spouse with a strength that marked rivalry of the kyuubi himself as their joy was clearly showcased onto each other. Unexpected and welcome, warm by the standard of any who understood the gift granted, by misfortune Naruto looked at his hands encircling his husband and saw the simplistic, recognizable sight of his orange jumpsuit upon his arms. Further tears escaped him at the understanding the sight imparted upon him, he withdrew himself in reluctance from the grip holding him, Madara reacting much the same. 

With tears cascading upon his face, blurring his images and distorting his expression. No longer joyful, now made wanting, horrified, and anxious. Mouth curved as a frown while his chest tightened to clench at a heart which refused to beat. Wet, darkened blue eyes stared into those of his husband; looking down upon him, crimson and wet as his own. As opposed to the frown which pertained his own face, Naru noticed in bleak feeling, the Uchiha before him -his love- was scowling upon him. He knew well why. 

A growl escaped pale lips. Naruto watched as Madara’s body reacted to a comprehensible anger, his robe tightening around his form as his muscles tensed. He appeared as a warlord; that whom was so despised within the Konoha beruled by yet another Senju. “You-” He breathed through his nose, a heave of his chest. “-Are not, can not, be Naru. Speak fastly: Who you be,  _ heathen  _ that you are _.” _ Yet another scowl came upon the already strained express Madara bore. 

Naruto restrained himself from making blunt statement. Knowledgeable already that his homupowa would recognize his appearance; clothing, hair, headband at all. However, with the circumstance as it were, being an intellectual man, the Patriarch would not comprehend his bride’s sudden youthful complexion, nor arrival. He kept his gaze firmly upon the swirling sharingan above, barely restraining hyperventilation as nerves began to quake his determination to speak clear. 

“I am not real.” Upon his own ears, his voice sounded firm, yet he felt uncertain of himself under the scrutiny. “Madara, neither are you.” Something eased in the posture of the man afore him, in addition to his sharingan’s disappearance. Yet, in opposition a sorrow became in its stead, a casted expression of indeepened longing, wistful in essence as his blackened irises drifted to the forest beside his arms crossed over his chest. Within the moment it remained, the genin could not take breath as all inside him told to comfort his husband. However, the moment left, and he was met with stoicism, that which he recognized well, but his chest tightened further at the regard; for it was an expression which Madara had worn for meetings he could not care for, or persons whom he largely held in disdain. 

Still, Naruto managed to force himself into speaking, a vague hope lurking at the back of the sentence. “I am Uzumaki Naruto, I am your hanayome, and-” Hesitance grappled him for a second at the wording, the explanations he could give twirled within his mind. “-And I am dead.” There was nothing else he could fathom to say, for it was the truth as Madara knew it to be. “You, are likely asleep.” For he couldn’t know how the man had come to where they were, he could not know his own reasoning for being amongst his husband again. 

Without a conscious thought on the movement, he raised his hand to touch at the black hair afore him, the pale skin of the tall man’s face. His wet sapphire eyes watching as his own tanned thumb traced the lines of strain underneath his Alpha’s lids, now thickened, deepened, by trials Naru knew not. The chary smile came onto him as a cautious happiness emerged in his mentality. And as his hand was caught by the scarred pale one of the man above him, his breath began to shake; scepticism intermingling with the exultation peeking through his emotions. Emboldened by the action, he took glimpse to the irises he knew, and found those much similar to his own -or rather, what he knew his eyes to be: Saddened, wet, softened. It was a comfort, brought unto the desolate mind of the Uzumaki as he leaned forward for nothing more then an embrace. 

Instead, lips met his hair, and he was pulled into a hold with such a graceful movement he hadn’t seen the action. “I wish I were returned to the fields. Awaiting for another strike to come for me, observing another man fall near me, feeling the blood seep through my gloves as a woman dies from my blade.” Softly spoken, yet the meaning had Naruto gasping, attempting to escape with hands pushing at the abdomen his head had nearly rested at. “This is cruelty, that was benign in collation. Naru…” Then with the metaphor clear, the former Matriarch relaxed himself once more into the embrace, ambiance awash over him at the familiar cold upon his cheek as Madara straightened. A large hand within his shortened hair, as his own held at the shoulderblades twitching beneath his fingers. “Wicked… to give me this, then steal it once more.” 

Though calm, a negativity nagged at his mind at the words, looking up to see the chin of his husband glancing away -though the hand in his hair continued to gently move.- “Madara, its sadistic to me too, but I have you with me now. We have each other to hold now, we can revel in each other’s company now... I can kiss you now, I can love you now. I won’t waste that on considering the sadness in the moment, I will only rejoice while I’m here, and I will cry later, when I am not.” He expected a teasing word to come from the man in coy, knowledgeable demeanour as he knew. But in its stead, even while wearing a tenderized smirk well fitted in place, Madara stared down upon him with a sweetened expression Naruto had scarcely ever seen and the grip he was within tightened in slight. 

“You glare well.” 


	16. Chapter 16: Bemoaned Snapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter is quite......... Explicit. Also: I'm a sadist, I'm a sadist, sadist, sadist, sadist. I do not apologize. 

“Madara?...” The soothing tone above him gave a simper to his lips, while the waist he held moved away from the relaxed grip his hand had held it in. The sparkle of enlightened hair shone above him as his gaze was met with bejeweled eyes, a grin to rival the sun resided on the man he held close.

The kiss they shared was one of passion.

* * *

Something bound his hands. It came unto him as the first instinctive thought of waking, movement could not be made from his wrists a tight clasp kept them pinned firmly upon the wood of his floor. Equally, his legs were restrained, the clutch of the material which kept him was firm; a twitch would barely form while his body heaved in effort. In glance he could hardly glimpse it to be a form of earth which bound him, though he knew not for what purpose, or, in particular; what jutsu had been used to keep his chakra from flaring extensively as it ought. Moonlight emerged from the shutters the dark of the night still entrapping the room, and his eyes could find little to be of aid. An attempt of force did nothing, for the restraints were hardened, well made, and those upon his legs prevented any significant endeavor to rise.

The quirkful sound of his door drew his attention, though it was lilliputian he could see still the clear glow pale legs made with the moon, walking towards him in measured steps of taunt. Ineffective though the action, Madara felt his eyes shift away from black, anger beholding his emerging feeling of trepidation, already a sneer had formed his mouth, and the sound of his own refrained breathing made the atmosphere of foreboding comprehension shake his mind. The Omega over him stood nude; a woman of whom he could not see within his downheld position. She was pale, enough to reflect the moon’s light, near emaciated in mien as her legs appeared to be mere bones, with no scars marking her skin: Madara retained the information as best he might, the lingering understanding he may require it. Keeping his mind from focusing on the purpose for which she had detained him.

As her dainted hands -with elongated nails- grasped at his trousers, running softly down the length of his most pious region, he contained the grunt lingering in his throat at the sensation it caused. He clasped his eyelids shut and forced his head to snap backwards, to slam against the floorboards, as the situation changed and his want for ignorance increased, his teeth grit together. Knowledgeable of the strength required to break the earth around his wrists, he disregarded the knowledge and gave an attempt regardless. Still, as a pale hand pult at the fabric resting on his hips, grinding his teeth further he made an endeavor to cool his chakra farther, to chill the woman -now- attop him so that she may burn in frosted sensation when touching his skin.

Even within his own bid to escape, he felt his body take interest, his mentality screaming already at the acknowledgement. He was erect and she had grasped him bare; her hand was wrong, at least he knew that well though his physicality became intentful at the touch. She stroked him, and once more, he clashed his head against the floorboards beneath, doing so again, as the image would not subside. Though his skin had become gelid. A heated, vehement, dudgeon arose in his chest; his sharingan burnt at the flare of emote it produced within, as his glare directed itself to the Omega who pleasured herself above him.

He could vividly see her hand at her vigina playing uncaringly, prodding, dipping execrable liquid upon him. His head slammed against the wood again, piffling tears emerging from his eyes; fore he could do _nothing._ Clutching his eyes tightly away from vision, his nails dug -scratching into the wood floor, his body twining itself in an attempt to leave. His own voice came as a hiss unto his ears. “Vulgar woman.” Something imbedded within him made him clench his jaw.

She moaned.

Horror infultated him, fore in spite of all self-control he maintained, resounding from his chest; he moaned in addition. It was meager, exiguous, yet it transpired and he nearly screamed in revault.

Madara wished to hit her, to harm her, to bury her within the sands of the desert. He wished for liberation from the situation, to crack the binds keeping him and cut the woman above him to bones. As the moans she made grew lustful, in tandem; they became strident upon his hearing. She rocked upon him fastly, relishing in her pleasure as her sounds turned raucous and licentious in nature.

Beginning now, as orange began to grace his sights and Amaturatsu woke: The Uchiha Patriarch screamed, in an anger he knew not; one that he had never before witnessed or pertained, foreboding in nature. Yet, no sound emanated from his throat as he did so. Detest crawling eerily up his spine.

Within himself, amongst the recesses of a fragmenting, degrading, mentality, alongside the weeping feelings he’d buried; he wished for his hanayome’s aid.

* * *

After noon bid herself with calm weather and clear, joyful skies. The sun shone unto his face, his hair warmed at her touch while his skin remained cold pale and rejecting the heated light upon it. His wrists stained red in opposition along with his thighs which were sore underneath the fabrics of his trousers and robe, he stared at the skies, breathing deeply as regret began to grasp at his heart. He shut his eyes, sighing and glimpsing instead to the scroll he had left on the table under Naori’s name. Vision quaking, the sight shifted afore him, and he pult himself from his lazed lean upon the wall. Making certain once more everything had been made ready before he walked to the towering visage of the Hokage building; nary representing the village now, as time had emboldened it.

Grey bled into the grass as he kept his gaze firmly upon the ground. Black had already taken to corrupting the red upon the building standing in front of him, though still, the sight was vivid even unto his fading reality. A moment came upon him then, where he stood below the tower, in rigid stance, bleak express, crossed arms. In ponderance, without one emote to follow along the considerance. Standing upon the steps of the leading building and staring upwards at the sign it held -’ **hokage’-** in complete opposition of his former want to keep his stare firm on the grounds beneath him.

Uncaring, he took notice quite vaguely, the sensation sparking at his mentality as Hashirama’s chakra approached him. Though his form to no care to the understanding, he made no movement towards the man coming forth. Only the notice of minimal chilled chakra drew his attention. He cast his eyes away to find his son’s figure beside the grey man who walked with him. Madara caught the twinge of happiness inside himself then and held to it as the boy ran to him in joy -a grin upon the small face, the breeze catching at his whitened hair, the rays of sun glinting his black eyes and brightening his slight tan skin. Madara felt the tilt of his lips at the scene, his own form bending down to catch the running boy. He embraced his son tight with clasped arms around the lank frame, with his head bent and his cheek resting in the mess of albino hair. He allowed his vivid vision to fade as the weakened tears betook him then, matting Jiraiya’s hair with salted water.

From his own feeling he knew little as most had waned to nothingness, but what he still maintained were so marginal that he could not fathom feeling emotion once again. Yet in seeing his heir, his beautifully smiling child of the sun, his son smiling at him, to hold him: Madara could not withhold the sudden sadness which encompassed all he was -all of him that remained.He pulled away, kissing Jiraiya’s forehead and cheek in the process, he gained a slight giggle -and much to his own regretful pain, the same onto his own cheek.

“Go play Jiraiya.” He got a frown, a child’s frown.

“But Daddy-” He interrupted the plead, for he knew his own weakened stance would give to the small demand.

“Please, I need to speak to you Godmother.” The pout which he witnessed then made his legs twitch in a cold knowledge of his own indecision. Still, even in begrudgement, Madara noticed well, unwittingly, that as his mother before him Jiraiya could make a grin of the sun without any toil. And as his son fled to play among himself, the Uchiha warrior had to control his arm from gripping and never releasing the small form of his child.

“Madara? Are you well?” He did not remove his eyes from the sight of his bouncing playing-training offspring, happily smiling to himself as he pretended to hit an enemy. Hashirama’s voice a meager whisper within his mind. “You were crying, I have not seen you in such a state for-” Bile rose in his throat at the implication unspoken, and he interrupted.

“I am leaving.” He stated, breaking the sentence he knew his friend was bordering on saying, injuring himself minimally with the words.

“I beg your pardon.” He’d heard, Madara knew well, as Hashirama’s tone had fallen into irritation. He forced his eyes to the smaller man.

“Konoha. Tonight, quite soon as it stands.” Stoicism clouded at his voice, once more, his emotions were lost upon him. Bleakly, he watched the Hokage’s tender gaze shift into his former warrior’s stare, hardened and prepared to kill if necessary.

The Omega’s voice deepened significantly when angered, Madara noted. “You cannot! What of Jiraiya? And the clan? And- and- myself! Madara! You wish to return to the land outwards?! To be threatened by rogue shinobi hopeful to kill? To confront the Kiniki clan as they hunt for your flesh?! Surrounded continuously by clans of war?!” His bellow surrounded them, drawing some curious attention, but many turnt away at the knowledge of whom had done the familiar yell. Jiraiya included. None paying heed to a common sight.

“You have no say in the matter. I am. That is final. The clan will be maintained by Naori, as she understands its management. As for my son, he will stay with you, or his Godfather. Simple.” Again, his mind could not conjure an emotion as he spoke, logic prevailed. Though in a glimpse to Jiraiya, he recalled one of his reasonings. “I do not believe I can properly care for him at the moment, it worries me. My mentality is slipping Hashirama, as you well know. Staying within the village would be a danger unto all.” His friend took notice then, to the gunbai and spear attached to his ribbon obi.

“Madara… I- you must, certainly, you must know of my-” The confession to follow was halted as the grey lips snapped together, the Uchiha rose his brow at the unfamiliar shy demeanor of the man. “-I cannot say.” However, in the knowledge, the logic beheld within him, an understanding he kept well contained lowered his brow, and forced outwards a heaving sigh.

“Indeed… You need not say Hashi, perhaps-” He was uncertain at the chance himself, “-if Naru hadn’t-, and _Mito_ was not a consideration- perhaps then we would have found solace in each other. I am sorry.” He held himself steady as his lips brushed against the forehead of his longest friend, a goodbye acknowledged in the action rather then making the words. “Please, see that Jiraiya is happy.” Madara could hear the slight, hidden sound of refrained crying underneath him as he asked, and he knew that the Hokage had forced himself into a strengthened visage even as tears streamed his face.

“I will.” 


	17. To Make A Past, From The Future

Silence. They sat in a consuming silence, though the rock was large enough to accommodate both of them. Madara sat in a poised manner though his posture possessed no such elegance, only his demeanour made for such an appearance. He was staring upon the treeline without a glimpse to his left, with a blanketed express. To his side, his true matriarch sat with conjoining fingers, tensing muscles and the expression of uncertainty as his eyes flickered to his husband. 

“Madara? Can’t you at least talk to me dattebayo?” It was instantaneous unto both of them, as Naruto came to flinching upon his misuse of language, biting at his tongue at the acknowledgement. Madara did indeed turn to look at the Omega sat beside him then as a blaze of anger flared in his expression rather then the stoicism he had previously been displaying, the arm he had draped over his right knee flexing into a fist. 

“Your tongue was far better priour to your death, Naru. Strange it should shift so quickly from proper linguistics to such a defiled speech yet again.” The blonde groaned at the immediate suspicion coiling within the Uchiha’s eyes, as the irises began to spin ever so minutely in reflection. Naruto knew the man well, and could comprehend his ire: Madara believed him to be an impersonator; an illusion of torment. Thus, by his own knowledge of the fact, he attempted no rebuttal against the unspoken accusation. The Patriarch would ever believe him to be as such for the slope of his nose was incorrect to memory, the slant of his jaw, the vibrancy of his eyes, unto Madara he was nothing more then his mind’s conjurance. Yet: looking onto the scowl rosened lips bore, to the hesitation to the spin of his pupils, Naru knew- knew by his own bias perhaps, but knew nonetheless that Madara wished him to be a truth. 

Naruto could simper at the thought, knowing his homupowa still loved him, still his fingers found his sleeve as he managed a whisper: “You remarried.” It was not something either of them were eager to speak of, but despite himself Naru was curious a distinctive protective urge arose within him at the acknowledgement, and lain beneath that; a jealousy he knew he needn't cultivate, but burned within him as he focused on his knees. 

Tentative pale fingers touched at his hair, and he forced himself to glimpse away from his own guilt to the man he knew to blush at innuendo, to the man he had fallen for, who warmed lost fledglings who had wondered just a slight too far. Now, once more, the warrior had gone from his ex-husband, once more a filtered calm rested on his expression and his eyes had returned to a peaceful pool of grey, spruce and oblivion. However, a melancholy tilted his eyelids, one Naru was unused to. 

“Not by my own want.” Madara’s thumb stroked along his cheek in comfort, coldened as ever yet soothing in his own manner, “not by the clan’s either.” The man breathed deep, and Naru felt a chill as his motions stopped. “Why are you here now, a comfort only to leave? You know which is more painful, do you not?” It was the same discussion as previous, the same worries, the same fears congregated into the both of them. Yet, addictive. 

“How is Jiraiya-chan?” Naru felt the flinch of his calloused fingertips. A depth filling him for a moment at considerations that could have come to pass, before remembrance of Jiraiya’s life calmed him once more. Still his homupowa was hesitant as he spoke, a stiffened posture returning.

“I do not know.” Anger amounted in his breast; Naruto felt at fault, he had never come to ask of Jiraiya’s past priour to his own accidental meeting within that which was. That only served to fuel his anger, despite the fact he could not have done anything even with the knowledge.

“You- Madara!” He had no comprehension in how to speak of his outrage. In knowing what little he did of his son’s past; he had grown up alone. “Did you leave him?!” Whilst a chargin had rest upon his face, the accusation appeared to shift his entire demeanor. He stood tall, once more inclining himself to his full height once more, towering; Naruto noticed, in an instinctive attempt of intimidation he had likely taken from the wars. Naru remained unfazed, his own eyes still simmering with a spleen as he regarded the twitching man afore him. Concern began to grasp at his conscience however, as he watched Madara in his explanation. 

“Yes I did Naru! For his own sake! I could not properly care for him! I did not want to burden him with my poor mentality! I could not-” It was then that all height and intimidation fell away from the man, his elbow rested on the imagined trunk of a tree in steadying his swaying person. Naru watched, unnerved as Madara’s hair fell around his fair visage and great heaving breaths shuttered his entire frame. He was disorientated as he spoke, for his words were fractured: “Naru- I cannot father him, not as I am- I am rotten, I am unstable- unworthy-” the words flowed swiftly from him, and Naruto had to take a deep breath himself before he kneeled within the fakened dirt beneath. He grasped at his homupowa’s bicep and pushed against his chest in a frail attempt to upright him. Though shuttered at the smoldering rage displaying within self-contempt shown clear across the prideful man’s face. The tears clouding his eyes and cleansing his face as he glared upon nothing, then, his eyelids shook and closed tightly as a scowl serviced to increase his broken expression, as if in a deep physical pain. 

Naruto did not know what to do, yet, as instinct stretched upon him as hanayome. He spoke: “Madara, you are none of those-” He was silenced as the man afore him dug his fingertips into the bark on the tree- and as they would in reality, the intense grasp made his fingers bleed beneath his nails. The wrathe inside the irises shocked him for a moment and his lips though wanting to, said nothing, he merely stared at the enraged man, he could not recognize. 

“You don’t know, what she- what- what I allowed myself to do!” Pressure, encompassed him, and though the desire to leave reflected in his muscles he forced himself to remain afore the angered Uchiha. Knowing, Madara would not hurt him. However, the man was not as assured as he for his arms grasped unto him in a near fatal hold, keeping him still and somewhat ready to fight. “I-” his expression crumpled, “I was blasphemous unto you, Naru-” Naruto felt the grip on the hands tighten around his own biceps. “I allowed her to defile me.” Guilt clasped Madara’s mouth shut, but the truth had already been spoken, and although it took him a moment to understand the implication, Naruto stood a reddened chakra seeping into his muscles. Painting his irises, and beneath him Madara looked upwards, slumped away from any dignity in his posture. In wrong decision, Naruto gripped his husbands arm and pulled him without effort unto his feet. He could already feel his scars deepening. 

“Who!” Wrath encompassed him enough for ignorance to fill him, he took no clear notice of Madara flinching away from him in guilt, though with the violence present in his hanayome’s motions he managed to sturdy himself. 

“Maiko, my- she whom I married.” Naruto, in slim consciousness took notice that Madara had spoken of her without honourific or respect. It fueled at his rage as a slight pleasure rippled through his spine.

“Vile woman! She raped you! You- you” instincts wavered, as his own concern began to take root within once more. “You whom is mine! Mine!” The Matriarch screamed and as in reality a smoldering wind burst from him as Kyuubi’s flame scorched the landscape whilst the pressure of his mounted chakra broke the earth beneath him. 

His fists clenched tight in an attempt of restraint, it worked, as tears flowed in place of anger and his irises returned to aqua and sapphire. “Mada- are you… alright? Did- did she hurt you?” Rationality came forth, and Naru for all animalistic instinct that had arisen flead, no care given as to whether or not someone had seen fit to touch his husband, he just wanted Madara to be alright.

Cautious, he flickered to the imposing figure, hoping that he hadn’t sounded as crass and cruel unto him as he felt he had, only to find that the shadow over him was infact the Patriarch. Staring down at him, he flinched, but he recognized the gaze was not the one he knew from the village awaiting him. It was calmed, cold, but it was his homupowa who stared down upon him. Madara leaned forward so his eyes were made level with Naruto’s own; then he quickly grasped the still burning arm of his hanayome. “No. I am not,” tears became clear to Naruto’s eyes as he stared into the eyes of the man he loved. “I betrayed you. That will forever weigh on me.” 

Naruto interrupted, snorting at the words, “she raped you.” 

“My body enjoyed it.” For a second of adolescent alikened jealousy Naru nearly gave to ire once more.

“But did you?” he asked, breathing through his nose as he kept his eyes firmly affixed to his husbands. 

“No. It was not you, she was cruel and I wished for you to save me from her grasp.” The eyes before him shut, and though he wanted to, Naru held himself away from kissing his husband. “I merely wished to hold you in that moment, to have your strength by my side, perhaps, to watch you kill her in my stead.” The hand on his arm moved to his neck, and Naru relished in the cooling sensation as it slid into his hair, their foreheads pressed together, and Naruto heard Madara sigh in relish of the contact just as he did. “I am sorry for betraying you.” Despite the calming, serious aura about them, Naruto chuckled lowly as something of a tear slipped past his defenses. 

“You never did dattebayo, I love you, idiot,” the eyes met his once more, and though he came close Naruto fought himself not to kiss the man he loved, “you can kiss me ya know?” He prodded a simper on his lips as he did so, looking into the shimmering eyelids which likely mirrored his own unshed tears. He was met with the briefest touch of tender, cooled lips upon his own, he pressed in turn, they did as well following. And Naru let his lids shutter shut at the familiarity, it was not a impassioned kiss as it had been before, Madara was acting in caution, in contrast to his own normal demeanor, tenderness. Still, the hand in his hair tightened to a grip and he was pult in slightly further to Madara’s height, he stood on the tips of his toes as his hand found his husband's neck. 

The kiss broke, but Naru remained were he was, his eyes still closed and Madara remained just as close, their lips near brushing as he spoke. “I love you, Naru,” then he resumed the kiss, only to break it once more, and repeat himself. “I love you-” again, “I love you,” in concern, Naruto brushed his hand to the mans jawline and found the dampened cheeks he had expected. They broke again; 

Naruto beat his husband to the words: “I love you,” they resumed. Madara remained tentative yet, the blonde could feel a smile formed on the lips he kissed, thus conjuring his own in turn.

They broke apart, their foreheads pressed together. “...could you return to Jiraiya-chan?” The chuckle that came surprised him, and his eyes opened to face the calmed face of his husband. His eye twitched as he realized no teartracks could be seen and no reddened rims framed the mans eyelids.

“Not yet my beloved. Although soon. I might be forced to bind his sharingan so it does not burden him through his youth.” 

“Or you could teach him how to use it.” 

“Naru-kun I cannot remain in Konoha. I am unstable.” Glaring followed. 

“And while you sit out in the wilderness sulking, our son,  _ your son,  _ remains inside the village near to the woman who killed me!” Flashes of red and white, and Jiraiya’s screams rippled though his ears as the burn on his throat stung without substance. Still, he realised his words to late, Madara’s sharginan blared and he snapped to attention, from tender-homupowa to fierce warrior in a second. 

“Who!?” His voice trembled within his chest, and Naruto felt it as a threat whilst the red eyes burned at his walls. Naru knew, it may be unwise to speak candidly to her identity but his instinct, pure Omega instinct as it were, forced his mouth open to the father of his child, and his Alpha afore him. The wary urge to protect his son -whom he knew to be alive- blazing within him, Madara had never ordered him to do something under command, but the rational within Naruto supposed it was paternal instinct driving the man. Naruto only managed restraint for a moment. 

“Uzumaki, Mito.” 

Naruto saw, as his last vision: Madara’s mankegyo spinning, whilst he summoned his sythe and gunbai, and then: he watched in horror as the summoning circle for the Kyuubi spun at his husbands feet. 

Naruto knew: he had just made the past.


	18. To Change The Past

He awoke screaming, twisting, twining, his sheets and ripping at his night clothes. Above him the brightened hair of his son shining in sunlight, glittering in the wrong colour and illuminating him in the wrong tones. But his posturing, his eyes were familiar, the hands near grasping at his shoulders were hesitant and calloused in scars of battles, Naruto recognized he should have seen. For now however, his own eyes watered for the knowledge of the history he had just caused, Kyuubi stirred beneath his gut at the consideration, above him Jiraiya burdened by the pains he had cast onto him from his own death Jiraiya still carried. Tears began to fall from his lids as he stared at the man, his hand resting against the tanned skin so similar to his own, but lightened alike his father. 

“Jiraiya-chan…” Guilt ate at him, as all remembrance of the past knawed at his mind, Madara’s legend of attacking the village, his own doing. The realization stinging at the very depths of his core. Thus there was shared a sweetened moment of respite before the genin shot away from his dwindling lazed comfort, all left within him from meals previous bolting out of him as if he were diseased. His eyes shut to a clasp, great heaves of breath escaped as his hydration left through his eyes in disjointed sobs, claws of his own make ripped into the fabric of his abdomen as blood bleed freely from the tares they created in earnest horror. He hardly came to the comprehension that it were his sons much larger graspings pulling at his frightened movements. 

“Okaa-san!” For a seasoned veteran to sound panicked in concern, one he more deeply valued then any within his village, it startled Naruto into a complacency. Yet still, the knowledge remained, that for all his careless wordings he had just managed to cause his homupowa’s death. The disgust came pronounced in the abhorrent sobbing he let loose to the ground, for all the protection he wished to bestow upon his grown son, his mind could not come to fathom the concept of motherly protection. It came unto him, the wonderence, if he too were the cause of Madara leaving the village as it were, if his death had sparked the ember into kindling. Jiraiya was at his side, his hands clearly trembling in nerves and uncertainty, and Naruto regained some mind to sit proper, to stop his vomit, to stop his clawing like a madman into his own flesh.

Naruto breathed as deeply as he might, calamity running about in his disjointed mind as he considered his own dogma. Yet still, he saw through the corner of his iris his son hurry to the kitchens, he knew not what for, he was attempting to calm his hyperventilation. The rivelets still came from his eyes, his mouth still tasted salt, but now in recognition as denial faded from his thoughts. It was not in his ability to stop this past, for it had already been written as a truth within his textbooks as a child, even priour to his unexpected journey. Yet, the comprehension pitted his stomach, as Jiraiya came back with a glass of cooled water; Kyuubi burned, healing at his own self-inflicted wounds. 

He drank, the liquid soothing, yet foul upon his tongue as guilt fermented into his core. How idiotic he had managed to be with simplistic words of question, what a fool. Naruto found no solace in the presence of his son by him, the truth weighed as no one man’s fist could. He knew reasoning, he knew the man whom he had married in full joy, he knew the man yet the comfort was lost to the scourge of comprehension, to the knowledge that his tenderized husband; a man whom had known the strain of war and never had broken, was now plagued with a simple secret he should have kept to his own breast. He bit into his lips as he stood.

He faced Jiraiya, anger at himself falling to brush at the recesses of his mind, as he stared at the much matured face of his child. He knew that the Uchiha was a grown man, a capable shinobi, a renowned shinobi, he needn’t offer apologies or excuses, condolences for his father’s mistake; yet his mind still beheld the urge. He knew Mito had not been kilt by the man, so he wondered at what exactly had occurred.

By all the margin of comfort it would service unto their minds, Naruto took his sons hand into his and held it in his own, praying over it as he would at the shines before.

Within him for a reason he did not comprehend, a voice filtered through his mind. That of his husband and others he knew well: 

“ **_My bride is dead Hashirama, I do not deny.”_ **

**“Yet, you expect us to take into possibility that you have been speaking to more then an illusion of your own mentality?”** Naruto knew that scowling voice speaking well, Tobirama in deep baritone, questioning all that might be sceptical upon him or the normality of the village. Naruto found the condicention even in knowledge of what the man had plagued unto his clan, a somewhat unbehath comfort.

**_“Yes. I do. For I have. Comprehend this_ ** **_young_ ** **_Senju-”_ ** The blond came near to a laugh at the tone his husband maintained, not in joviality, but in restraintful ire, as he spoke in condescension unto Tobirama’s nary scornful tone.  **_“-I did not know of my bride’s assassin, perhaps a vague comprehension brought forth by bias, but not the understanding. Naru spoke to me in assurity, in clarity. He is certain, my mind was not.”_ ** He heard no reply, but Naruto could easily come to imagine the grumble following as the albino man crossed his arms and swung his head to the side of the room in dejectful agreement.

_ “In a way I believe you Madara, but do listen to rationality upon mine own consideration. For what purpose, besides disagreement and discomfort, what reasoning would Mito harbour to kill Naru? It would gain her nothing, other then your -and the clan’s mourning.”  _ Hashirama’s filtered voice came through then, Naruto knew not of his own sanity, yet the conversation did bring speculation unto him if what he was hearing was present, or indeed true. He understood his own words unto Madara would hold a damaging effect, though now he stood in confusion for the words spoken in his mind. Naturally however, he could fathom the sympathetic empathy expressed in the Hokage’s tenderized soft oaken visage.

**_“Nary nothing, yet, I would be expected to marry once more. Is it not peculiar unto you, Hashirama, that Maiko and Mito know each other so very well? In spite of their clan history?”_ ** The conversation held there. The silence, demanding an answer Naru knew he could not place input. 

That was where he came to ponder, why was Madara within the village once more? Was he not in the midst of preparing for attack? The cold hand of his son surrounding his fingers, became a calming balm upon him. 


End file.
